The Summer Crow
by MarinAllKarins
Summary: A mercenary, who has lived and fought for everything they've earned, is betrayed and sent to the Wall. Knowing there is nothing they can do to escape this fate, they unwillingly become a black brother to discover there's more to life than crime and city streets. Little would they discover, that this hot-headed mercenary that takes their vows is actually a woman. Jon/OC
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I think it's pretty obvious that I do not own GoT or ASOIAF.

A/N: I've had this story within my head for so long and then started writing and couldn't stop. I hope it wasn't all for naught and that you guys enjoy it!

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 _"What do you know of the Autumn? When the leaves fall and trees are bare from their colors and their fruit; stripped from all that made them all they were."_

 _"What do you know of the Winter? The Winter's terror bid farewell before you were born, just to warn us all in silence it'll come again."_

 _"What do you know of the Spring? It came falsely, gave even falser hope. It brought no flowers, it only brought us blood."_

 _"All you know is the Summer. The long, long Summer. Summer child, you knew of little peace. Peace that would not remain."_

Slowly and reluctantly, her eyes that felt as heavy as lead soon began to open. The etching sound of wheels rolling through the hard and unsteady earth was entering her ears, becoming louder with how increasingly aware she was becoming. Her mind was still in a state of daze, her head lolling as she tried to stretch out the sore muscles of her neck and shoulders.

Her dream, the one where a woman she never met before spoke to her, kept speaking to her about the seasons. In that dream it was just a voice with her laying in the middle of a forest, surrounded by a thicket of tall, green trees with bright leaves among a variety of thin and thick branches that would sway from the melodic gale that would come and go. The dream would come, randomly, and then cling onto every thought like how honey leaves a sticky residue on your fingers. It wouldn't really go away as quickly as she wanted it to.

"Get up, all of ya!" A coarse voice shouted at them, bringing her out of her befuddled reverie. Eyes blinking slowly, she tried to erase the blear from sleep that was over her brown irises. Squeezing them shut for a few more seconds, she opened them to finally see that her vision was fully crystal clear. "Welcome to Castle Black."

It certainly didn't live up to its name. Seven hells, it wasn't even a castle. All her eyes were soaking in were a bunch of towers and sturdy timber keeps, not at all a strong castle painted black like she always assumed it to be. Just the sight of this place made her feel doomed, but she already felt that way before she sat before this place. When she was betrayed by the one person she trusted within her ranks and was bound in iron clasps, she felt inevitably doomed for the very first time.

The North itself brought her dread. It was such a cold and desolate wasteland that held no sort of brightness or light. How people could live here by choice was beyond her comprehension. Every five minutes the gale would come, frosty in feeling and just nipping at her exposed skin constantly. Her body would rattle in the nights, making her cling onto herself to keep her warmth and by first light she would feel entirely numb; like a frozen block of human-shaped ice. She hardly saw a glimpse of the sun, not once would the grey overcast part and show her the bright orb that would blind one if they stared at it for too long. Not even being a pious person, she mentally prayed to any gods, old and new, to bring out the sun so it could give her a inkling of its warmth. They hadn't listened, rightfully so, what had she done to be given such a favor?

This place made her feel entirely homesick and that wasn't a good thing. She wished she was by the ocean, able to jump off board a ship, and swim her way back to her birthplace. Back to the place where the heat was common, needed, and loved; the humid air of the Summer Isles. It was her fault why she was here in Westeros, really. Everything had been her fault; everything from coming here to resorting to crime to keep herself afloat. The job of a mercenary wasn't as all it was hyped to be, but it was hers and now it came to an abrupt end because she got herself sold out to a Gold Cloak. What a fool she was. A fool now trapped and believed to be a man forced to join the Night's Watch.

The sound of steel against steel sooner interrupted her thoughts of disdain about her current situation. When she keened her ears to it, she found her hatred for the place only heighten than lessen. Just from the sound of sword combat, she could tell the lot of these men were amateurs. Just from seeing their footwork when she was forced out of the wooden traveling prison and through the open gates was enough to turn her stomach.

Her eyes then caught sight of a large, iron cage that was going up the large and expansive wall that held a history that went beyond her ancestors. She felt awe when she saw it the first time at reasonable distance, but now she felt hatred seeing it up close and personal. She would be guarding it, the Wall, and staring at it for years ( and all her life ) if she let herself stay. All she wanted to do was find a way to escape without exposing herself as a woman. A gender attached to the name and work that she had built for the past three years would just ruin all that she shed bled, sweat, and tears for.

With a shove, she was made to walk right into the courtyard and she turned to look as the man she was told to be named Yoren. Her eyes took a gander at him, the look in them holding and building animosity every second that she did. He merely shrugged, unfazed or even entertained by her clear irritation with him. She didn't expect for him to feel otherwise anyway. Sucking her teeth, she took her first steps into this place as her wrists were still tightly bound. Yoren said she had to remain iron-clasped because he didn't trust her. It was a wise decision on his part because she would've done her damnedest to escape or either die trying.

A tall and broad shouldered man stood by a rail dressed all in black with a cloak stitched with feathers draped across his back and shoulders came forward. His stride made him imposing along with the aura of a leader that surrounded him. His eyes looked across the courtyard to the training men and then settling for them, the new recruits. He was balding, his hair almost if not as white as the snow around them. His heedful eyes studied every inch of their faces, almost like he was keeping a mental image in his mind's eye of every last one of them. They were, after all, about to be his "men"; Men of the Night's Watch.

The look of him kept the intimidation, but she told herself to fear no man for all men die. All men were sacks of meat of various heights and sizes and could die by any means that presented itself; fist or blade. She killed many people, for survival and for coin, so what would make this man different all because of how tough he looked? She had seen tougher. _She had killed tougher_. This man should be just another among the list of names she forgotten.

"Lord Commander," Yoren called him the man she had been staring at, who among his observation finally rested his eyes on hers. They were a bluish-grey, she could tell even though she had to squint to figure it out, but they had been locked on to her brown eyes as if she were the only one standing there. "These are the prisoners from King's Landing. What a bunch, aren't they?"

Due to the title, it clearly informed them that he was the leader of the Night's Watch. A leader of a bunch of sniveling thieves, killers, and rapers. This Lord Commander had nothing to be proud of, especially of that. And yet, he seemed so smug. She finally tore her sights away from him, finding interest at absolutely anything, particularly the snow that stuck itself in piles on the ground.

"Why is that one in irons?"

She kept herself fixed to looking at the ground before her annoying curiosity to over. Her eyes slid to take a look at Yoren since both he and the Lord Commander were looking squarely at her. The rest of the prisoners did the same, looking at her bound hands and then up at her face. Dark brown irises had molten in the heat of her anger, not enjoying the fact that she was put on the spot.

"That one," began Yoren, "nearly slit my throat to escape." Crossing his arms, he wore that stupid grin he wore when he managed to knock the dagger out of her hands. "Couldn't let that one try that again, now could I?"

"Wild like a yearling." Did he compare her to an unbroken horse? Baring her teeth like a animal bares its fangs, she took a step forward.

"I'm not some horse that you can break and train!" The entire courtyard had gone silent with her shout, and if she thought everyone to be looking at her before, they definitely were now.

"Show some respect, bastard!" One man in black had said, voice quaking with anger. "That's your Lord Commander and he deserves to be treated as such!"

"He ain't my lord anything! I serve no one, 'specially not some old, stupid man!" Within an instant, the front of her tunic was gripped by the collar and her feet were off the ground. She could feel her clothes tightening around her neck, making her grimace from the constriction. Her eyes thinned immediately, looking down at the man who held her up with the both of his hands.

Before her was a man that was old, but clearly younger than their Lord Commander. His eyes were the color of pitch black, like a night sky. It was almost like if you continued to stare at them you might find yourself stuck in a sea of black abyss. "All you recruits come in here acting as if you're better than this place," he spat. Despite his anger, it wasn't hot with fury. It was cold. "You're just another piece of scum that nobody'll miss and you have the gall to think you're better than Lord Commander Mormont?"

"Let him go, Thorne," said the Lord Commander, his voice holding no room for argument. It was a demand, it was sound, and it was met with an answer. This Thorne man gave her a hard glare before dropping her, letting her fall down on her backside, squarely onto the ground. Luckily enough, the snow provided some cushion or else her ass would've certainly hurt upon impact. "He's not the first and we won't be the last to be upset with why they are here."

His mercy did nothing for her, if that's what he hoped. Still holding her defiance and anger in her eyes, she looked up at the leader of the crows.

"What's your name, boy?"

Debating on whether or not to answer him, she could feel her skin heating with the unbroken stares. Raising her head to properly make eye-to-eye contact with Lord Commander Mormont, she tried to control her lips from making a menacing and overall childish sneer.

"Aza," was her reply. It was short and to the point. "My name is Aza."

Her answer was met with silence, just a stare as his eyes tried to read her. She wasn't sure what he was trying to discover, but she hadn't liked the visual probing.

"Welcome to the Night's Watch, Aza."

It sounded like he said it in efforts to piss her off more and from the slight smirk on his face, she felt she guessed right. She watched him leave, going into one of the buildings with a man trailing obediently behind him.

"Get up, boy," Thorne commanded. "Looks like your work begins today."


	2. Chapter 1: Servant of the North

A/N: This chapter is pretty short, but I'm going to make the next one longer. Thank you to all those who reviewed, faved, and followed! I hope some of your questions were answered in this chapter. I'm going to reveal a little bit of Aza in every chapter.

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"Shit!"

Her entire hand began to lock up, making her clutch her wrist as she hunched over, pressing it close to her chest in all her efforts to soothe the pain. Squeezing her eyes shut, Aza let out a few agonized-filled hisses and tried to block out the shooting pain by thinking of situations that were leagues worse than this that she endured. She thought of things that were so much worse that she was practically left begging for the Stranger's sweet kiss, not realizing that she was stronger than the blows she had once been given. So what was a simple hand cramp compared to that? It was not even as bad as the cramps she suffered during each month from her moon's blood.

Curling her fingers that were throbbing with their own set of pain, the mercenary pulled her hand away to feast her eyes on how raw and red her palm and fingers were. She had been on her knees, which were sore and aching as well, for practically hours upon hours. Unfortunately, Aza had no one to blame for this except herself. With her tongue lashing out in the fashion of a leather whip and her lack of much needed self-restraint, her vicious mouth her put her on cleaning duty relentlessly.

Alliser Thorne, Master-at-Arms of the Night's Watch she sooner learned, had been giving her every bit of hell since she first arrived. Their meeting cemented the relationship they now have and for a split second, she wondered if she had been more obedient then would have things been different? Would he still be as cruel to her? A large part of Aza doubted that. She wasn't the only one who suffered his torment, but by the grace of the gods did she feel like she was his favorite to torture.

It came to a point that before he could take a step into the same room she resided in, his whole presence became known to her in an instant. This aura he would radiate would make her frown in a matter of seconds, dampen whatever joy she felt, and her hands would clench into tight fists, ready to swing themselves at him. By the time he reached to stand before the mercenary, he had to do something that would rile her. He made it his mission to do so.

One of his favorite things to do was lift his heavy, black boot-covered feet and purposely kick over her bucket of snow-laced, sudsy water. Thorne would laugh afterwards, grin from ear-to-ear at her as he did it. He liked to see her reaction and say a few taunts to add more wood to her anger's fire. Other times, he made sure his boots were covered in sloshy, filthy mud and walk around the room, making her have to scrub the floors all over again when she was nearly finished. Instead of taking it all in stride and realizing that he wanted her to lash out, she folded. She played right into his hand and got herself in trouble all over again.

Even now, she was forced to clean the floors of the common hall because it took three men to hold her down as she tried to throw the wooden bucket at the Master-at-Arms' head. Another week to scrub the floors, he said to her, but she wasn't the only one stuck in this shift. There was a bunch, this unfortunate lot, and most of them had gotten on Thorne's rather rotten side already, too. Was there even a good side to Ser Alliser? She thought not and she damned it if it truly existed. Nobody had ever spoken or seen it. In fact, the crew often joked with one another in whispers that he was certainly a _thorn_ in their ass.

"When are you ever gonna stop bein' on cleaning duty, Az?" Rowan, a recruit that entered the same time as she did, came by with a brush and bucket in his hands. His blue eyes immediately followed towards her cramped hand before he shook his head full of black hair. "You know you're at fault for that. I don't think they'll ever let you touch a sword again if you keep on talkin' back."

Az or Yearling, she was hardly called by her whole name these days. The Lord Commander's assessment of her became a nickname and stuck with her face, making all the senior members call her that as well. The other recruits that arrived the same time as she did, who she deemed acquaintances at most, called her Az. She hadn't minded it, seeing as arguing and fighting wouldn't change anything.

"I know what I said and I know what I did…" Setting her jaw, she shrugged her shoulders, trying to play off that she was unbothered even though she clearly was. "I won't take none of it back either." Stubborn as always, but she couldn't help it. Her anger and her inability to cave into anything was what kept her alive for so long. "I'd rather clean for the rest of my life than fight and die for the likes of 'em," Aza spat her answer, lips curled at the corner in a sneer as she rolled her hand. The mercenary was trying to crack all the stiff bones so she could start cleaning again before Ser Alliser saw her and deemed her to be slacking.

"What's the difference, really?" he inquired, causing her to peer at him from the corner of her eyes. Rowan was cleaning atop of the tables that were messy from the day's meals because some men couldn't let the food go into their mouths like proper humans. They always seemed to drop and spill what they ate and drink like a bunch of slobs or wild animals to put it clearly. Half of her thought it to be on purpose too because they knew they wouldn't be the ones to clean it all up. "We all die."

Scoffing, Aza rolled her brown eyes. "The difference is that I'd rather die because that's what _I_ want," she put it simply. "I want the choice to be my own, not some Commander I didn't wish to serve in the first place. What do I look like dying for that old fool? And for what? Because of some fucking Wildlings? They don't give a shit about me and I don't give a shit about them. Let 'em come over, under or through the damn Wall! I just don't care."

"You just don't get it, do you? They're a bunch of savages. If they come South of the Wall, they'll kill people; innocent or no. They'll try to take over, they will." What did it have to do with her still? Nobody could seem to answer that for her. All she could do was look at him, blankly, showing that all of what he said made no solid difference to her. Sighing, Rowan shook his head, completely giving up. He should've known better than to stuff any of the Night's Watch nonsense into her head.

Dipping her brush into the cold water, Aza used her right hand to scrub the floors now. She was naturally left-handed, she used her left hand for practically everything. It was the one she used the sword with, the one that could muster nearly all her strength in a single punch with, and now Alliser-fucking-Thorne was going to make it into a useless, stiff mess at this rate. "First Ranger Benjen took a few of the men to Winterfell a couple weeks ago." Aza briefly raised her head, moving into a half curious tilt. "I don't suppose you're not upset for not going?"

"Ha!" Aza threw her head back as she laughed before moving her hand up and down as the brush's bristles did their work against the floor. "Do you think Benjen could've trusted me to behave myself?" Raising a brow, she caught Rowan's laugh as her lips remained in a mischievous smile. "'Sides, I'm not the perfect person to show what bein' in the Night's Watch is all about, yeah?" Inclining her head towards him, she crinkled her eyes, letting them smile when her lips did not. "You should've gone with him."

Rowan seemed to like and respect the Night's Watch, always on the defense for them and speaking his ill thoughts on the Wildlings whenever he could. He was a brave and righteous, young lad and Aza couldn't help but find it admirable and sad at how naïve he was. He would sooner learn there was nothing great about what they were doing. That the Night's Watch were a bunch of unwanted criminals and outsiders, forced to serve and protect a Wall and ungrateful people against those scary "Wildlings".

"Why did Benjen go to Winterfell anyway?" she asked, brow quirked curiously. "Is he getting some more recruits?"

Rowan raised a brow. "You don't know? He is, well, he _was_ a Stark." That captured her attention, mostly because the Starks were well-known throughout Westeros. They called them the descendants of the First of Men after all. "That's his family in Winterfell, the Warden of the North is his brother, but I really hear it's because the King and Queen will be there." Aza's face immediately soured upon hearing Westeros' royalty was but half a month's ride away from her. Rolling her eyes again, she pushed the brush deeper against the floor, moving to the next spot that was dirty and untouched. "I take it that you don't care for 'em? You lived in King's Landing… Have you ever saw 'em?"

"I've never seen the Queen," the girl answered brusquely, "but I've met her coins." Rowan stopped moving, interested in what she meant by that. "In my company, we had spies and we had assassins. We had smugglers and we had merchants. We were everywhere and nowhere all at once." Just thinking about the sellsword company she worked under for years made her happy and sad at the same time. What became of it now? Now that she was sent to the Wall, that is. Did _he_ take it and claim it as his own? Did the members she thought to be like family separate? Aza had no idea of knowing what became of them, but if anything, she hoped they were all still alive. "The King? I saw him in a few brothels every now and again. He's drunk off his ass most of the time."

Looking around to see if anyone was listening, Rowan slowly crawled his way over so that he was close enough to keep the conversation to themselves. "What did the Queen hire you for?"

"To keep an eye on a few folks," Aza answered nonchalantly. "She wanted lengthy details on what they were doing and where they was going. I'm sure if she didn't like what she heard, she would've ask for me to put a blade in 'em."

"Who was it the Queen wanted you to watch?" It probably wouldn't matter if she told him, especially since neither one of them could exactly leave this place in one piece. Her thoughts of escape slimmed down to none for the past two months. Aza thought about every single way she could flee, but even if she did manage to escape, how was she going to survive? Aza didn't know the North, so getting lost was all she was bound to do. Though she supposed getting lost was much better than scrubbing floors all day.

"The Hand of the King." Aza looked around as she replied, making sure nobody was listening in or paying them any mind. "Lord Jon Arryn. She made me watch him to see what it was that he was doing."

Her friend looked all bug-eyed just then. His shock hadn't really made much sense to her until he told her the reasons. "You know he died, don't you?"

She hadn't known that at all.

Aza blinked a few times in her surprise and slowly shook her head. "No, I didn't know."

"That's why the King is comin' North. He's most likely gonna ask Lord Stark to be his new Hand since he be comin' all this way."

How strange, she couldn't help but to think. Lord Arryn didn't seem like he was on his deathbed when she was made to keep tabs on him. She did however hear that he had gotten sickly, but she hadn't known it was to the point he would die so soon. It hadn't mattered in the end, at least to her it didn't. Jon Arryn was no kin or friend of hers. He was just another old lord that was now dead.

"What does it matter? The politics of it all… It has nothin' to do with us." Pushing all the speculations aside, Aza paid attention to the task at hand. If she ever wanted to get out of this cleaning punishment, she had to make sure she steeled her anger at the sight of Thorne if he were to show his face to her again today.

"Az," Confused, for a moment of who called her name, she looked up to at Eddison, affectionately known as Edd by many. He was a steward here and became a familiar face among the throng of strangers along with a few others to her. "Time to get groomed."

Almost immediately, she dropped her brush in the bucket and picked it up to place it on the bench closest to her. She was finally relieved of scrubbing floors, she was literally going to jump at any chance of escape now. Her ears picked up on Rowan's laugh, who shook his head as he did. "You'll finally know peace for a time, huh?" She heard him say, teasing her after knowing the pain she had gone through.

"But you won't." She patted his back. "Make sure you get all the spots I couldn't get, yeah?" Chuckling at his instant frown, she turned to Edd and gave him a sharp nod to show she was ready to leave. "You know, my hair is already short," Aza said as her fingers grabbed a couple strands of her hair to prove her point, "and I don't have myself a beard… Where else are they gonna cut?"

"Coulda sworn I heard you say you want to chop your hair off some more." Knitting his brows together to show his confusion, his eyes then looked over at her. "But you said the line was too long for you last or am I making all of this up, huh?"

It surprised her just a bit that he remembered that. She had forgotten about it entirely. Folding her arms behind her head, she kept a leisure pace as the two of them left the common hall. "I forgot about that."

"Almost had me thinking I was touched…" Rolling his eyes, Aza couldn't help but chuckle. "Not only that…" He turned to look at her while he spoke, "Lord Commander says he's taking you off cleanin' duty, he thinks you learned your lesson 'nuff."

Usually Mormont didn't interfere too much with what Ser Alliser ordered. She assumed that he thought it would build discipline if they dealt with Ser Alliser treatment, but for him to have a say now? Aza wondered if he thought that her treatment was unreasonable too despite the fact she deserved a good half of it. "I wager Thorne'll be unhappy knowin' Lord Commander had a say on this."

"Oh, he was," Edd said, shaking his head. "I was there t'see it."

Initially curious to Thorne's reaction to it all, she parted her lips to let the question flow but then suddenly decided not to. The more she thought of Thorne, the more she got herself a headache. It was best to not think of him when he wasn't around. She didn't want him to have a home inside her head.

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Slender fingers swam through thick brown hair, still trying to get a feel of this new coiffure. Just the feel of it was different. Aza had always sported short hair because it help her efforts to look less feminine. It also helped during battle so that her hair didn't smack itself right into her face. Shorter hair was fitting for a swordsman while longer was better for an archer, at least Aza thought so. She couldn't see how long hair would not be a nuisance while she swung her sword around when all an archer needed to do was stand firmly in one spot.

Just a month ago, her hair was once long enough to place in a small ponytail, but now? She couldn't gather enough of it to tie it up except for the side-swept fringe partially across her thick and arched eyebrows. She liked the new style strangely enough. It made her feel different almost. Shearing off some more locks felt like she was further freeing herself of the Aza that she abandoned some years ago. Whatever it took keep herself separate of that little girl she once knew was the biggest progress into who she wanted to be. This identity crises, this constant ignoring what her once young heart had loved and wanted, had been given another tier to climb. One day, she would be able shut the door to her past forever.

Since there weren't many mirrors in the Night's Watch for it wasn't for the vain and they had no one to impress, she had to take a gander at herself through her reflection in a puddle in its own corner of the courtyard. She couldn't remember the last time she actually cared about how she looked. Without looking at the water's surface, she already knew she didn't grow an inch. Aza stayed right at five foot one, much to her dismay. She was about as tall as a boy of eleven or twelve despite being six-and-ten herself. Her short stature made it easier for her to be picked on and she could tell Ser Alliser liked towering over her because he thought that put some fear in her. It was one of the things that made her stick out like a sore thumb. She already felt like an outsider anyway due to the coloring of her skin among the sea of pale.

Aza was a girl with warm-colored, brown skin. Most people of Dorne had her coloring as well, some were even paler than her too. The Summer Isles had people of so many shades of brown, both light and dark, but here? All she saw was pale and more pale. At least in the South there had been a few of different varieties due to the harbors that many foreigners flocked to for both traveling and selling their wares.

Her brown eyes, big with a slight tilt, trailed down to the boiled leather and chainmail she wore to see how flat her bindings made her look and how the black made her appear slimmer than she was. It would be hard to survive here, constantly binding her breasts and having little to no time to let herself to get a breather without them. At least within her company, she could go home and be a girl for once in the solace of her privacy, but here? She would never have the time or the solace. She was surrounded by men and more men, especially since they all slept in the old Flint barracks together. If only she could find her own cell to keep everything under wraps.

Standing upright, she gazed at the area where the sword training was. Thorne was monitoring, as usual, which made her uncomfortable. The last thing she needed was for them to get into an argument so that he could further prove to the Lord Commander that she was best made a steward. That was the last thing she really wanted.

Swallowing a bit of her pride, she held her head up high as she walked over, clenching and un-clenching her hands as she made her way. The sounds of steel meeting steel, arrows cutting the air and making a whistle before meeting their intended target or their unintended one, the snow, and Ser Alliser's insults to the recruits had become such a constant sound in these past three months. It was getting harder and harder to think of this place as some sort of nightmare or plainly temporary. At this rate, it was bound to be normal to her. It was going to be something close to home eventually.

"I see you've decided to join us for practice, Yearling." His voice cut any sort of resistance she was trying to build herself to have. As much as she wanted to stave off her anger, Aza felt ignited in the harbors of rage just hearing his voice. "Pick yourself up a sword and prove yourself, if you can even do that."

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Aza withheld from saying anything back. Rowan looked at her, worried about how she was going to behave, but she was going to prove him, herself, and anyone who doubted wrong today. Aza quickly jogged her way to the armory. Once she reached it, Aza pulled out a sword with ease from the sword rack and her eyes immediately scanned the weapon like there was no tomorrow. What angered her the most was how ugly the swords were; they were dull, clearly overused with not enough whetstone to the blade in efforts to sharpen them, and their handles? _A mess._ Is this what the Night's Watch was working with? What they were going to be killing Wildlings with? She hoped these were just practicing swords because they might as well use needles against the Wildlings at this point. The needles would be much sharper than their swords ever were.

Keeping the comment to herself, she walked back outside to the courtyard, right over to Thorne and stood before him. His eyes, cold as ever, looked at her and then down at her hand. "That's the wrong hand, Yearling."

"It is not the wrong hand." Trying to think how she could phrase this without her words poisonous, Aza swallowed the lump of pride in her throat. "I use my left hand."

"Your left hand?" His brow raised, questioning everything she was saying and what she was doing. For this, Aza could not fault him. A left-handed swordsman was rare, it wasn't a common occurrence, but that's what she was. People would say upon sight of seeing her sword being strapped to her right hip that it was wrong. "And if I say use your right?"

"Then I'll be weak and this spar will be for naught," she told him simply, meeting his eyes as she spoke to convey her honesty. "A complete waste of time, really."

"Matters not what hand you use. The Wildlings will cut you down either way." Tearing her eyes away from him, Aza tried her best to not shake her head. "You, I want you to knock the Yearling on his ass. Show him what it takes to become a proper brother of the Watch. I'm worried he got so used to cleaning the floors that he just don't know how to fight anymore."

Clenching her teeth, Aza tightened her grip on the handle of the sword, watching her opponent take a few steps towards hers. Darting her tongue across her dry bottom lip, Aza watched as the sword was lunged straight towards her. She was given some time for her to be quick enough to raise her sword in time to block it. Considering her mood as of now, she had felt no need to indulge in a struggle of power or make this spar any longer than it should be. Aza took a few steps back and brought her sword down from over head at him. He managed to block her attack by the thinnest of seconds, much to her dismay.

Since she had put a good half of her strength in the attack, knowing they wouldn't be prepared for it, she pressed the sword down against his, making him be forced to lower himself in order to gather his strength to push her back. He struggled, his legs buckled, since he had been without an option but to conjure the ability to push her back.

She kept him there, trying to weaken him so that he would exert himself, but there were other plans made for her. "You," Ser Alliser said to another, "and you and you." He added three people into the fight, much to her surprise. With her eyes wide, she had raised her foot, slamming it into her first opponent's face. The force of it knocked him flat onto his back as she prepared herself for the other three. Raising the sharp end of the blade towards them, her eyes looking at the three of them wildly to see who would attack first. She tried to calm herself, telling herself she could do this and she been in situations like this before. If she panicked, she'd go berserk. This was training and not a real battle, Aza had to forcefully remind herself.

Rushing forward to who she believed weaker out of three, she watched them swing the sword vertically, missing her as she quickly ducked. She used the flat surface of the sword to hook the back of their legs, sending them head over heels to the snow-covered ground. Another rushed up from behind her and if hadn't been for the crunching snow, she wouldn't have heard them and prepare herself. Instantly, she ducked, letting them run into and across her back, and driving themselves into the ground without much effort. The last one that remained seem more cautious and lack the impulsiveness than the others.

They had thrust the sword towards her throat, an area they least expected her to protect, and she had been so lucky by the inch she moved that let the sword glide past her by a slithering inch. Her heart, pumping so fast and hard in her chest, gave her the incentive to fight much harder. It almost felt like she was in a real battle with how her adrenaline was rushing. Their blades met, the clanging song of metal ringing into the ears of all who was in the courtyard; steel grating against steel was sung over and over until they grew tired of it.

The next time he swung his sword, Aza caught it and angled it to the ground, making it pierce the snow and possibly the dirt underneath. She threw back her head and charged it towards him in a rough headbutt, forcing him to drop the blade and clamp his hand over his face. She wasn't sure where she hit him exactly until she caught sight that his nose was bleeding.

"I didn't mean…" Aza tried to apologize, wishing she had some form of restraint. She dropped her blunt-edge sword without thought, about to run towards him until…

"Don't you go apologizing or coddling him," Ser Alliser warned her, making her quiet and still in an instant out of fear of giving him a hasty retort. "He should've known better." It was just a spar, not an actual battle. There was no real need for injuries, at least that was what Aza had thought. "You let this little Yearling beat the three of yous." His voice held scorn, she could tell, and his expression didn't beg a differ either. "Just what good is this lot if they can't even face the likes of him?" His onyx eyes almost looked like slits in his anger. " _Pathetic_."

Between Thorne and the spars, she was unprepared for the sound of the gates of Castle Black opening. It gave her a scare, her heart nearly leaping, and she immediately turned face it. For a brief second, she could see the outside world beyond Castle Black. The outside world she dreamt of running out to that could lead her back to King's Landing, where the sun always shined despite how the air smelled of shit. Where her company was and how she hoped to reunite with them and kill the bastard that put her in Castle Black. All her wishes and dreams had almost seemed nonexistent though. The freedom that she wanted, that could nearly taste, had been so unimportant to her for a moment's time.

Instead, her eyes found themselves staring at something else, at this one person in particular. Out of the group of familiar and unfamiliar faces, he stood out most to her. It could've been just how sullen he looked, dressed in all black as if he was already in the Night's Watch. Despite the sad look his face wore, his eyes were filled with wonder, getting a taste of his new surroundings, and what obviously enraptured him most, as it did many, was the Wall.

Naturally, her curiosity of him should've ended there. He would become another brother, another face she'd see every day for the rest of her time here. But when his dark eyes suddenly focused on her, Aza found herself freezing on the spot.

Whether if it was the shock of being caught or because she refused to tear her gaze away like a weak maid, she kept her stare and he had kept his. For a time, this sullen boy of black of hair and black of clothes was the only thing her eyes took notice of. Thorne took a few steps forward, being the true cause of her finally slewing her eyes away from him. "This is Benjen's lot?" His question was met with an casual 'aye' by one of the senior brothers.

By the time Aza looked back at the sullen boy, his eyes were paying attention elsewhere. Much to her surprise, it was at another person; a dwarf to be exact. When the hood of their cloak was lowered completely, letting their eyes feast the sights of the stronghold, Aza immediately recognized who he was. Apparently, he too recognized her when his eyes took a glance in her direction by chance.

"Well, well…" A half smile grew on his face, his eyes lit up with amusement and intrigue. That was the natural look of Tyrion Lannister. "They've finally caught you?"

Aza slowly crossing her arms, leaning all her weight against her left foot with a inquisitive tilt of her head. "Do you think I came here willingly, My Lord?"

Tyrion's smile never left. "I don't suppose I can ever imagine you doing a lot of things willingly, Aza." It almost pleased her to know he remembered her name. Though their encounters had been few, they did leave quite the impression on one another considering how they met in the first place. "I'm more than surprised you haven't set this place to flames yet."

"I've thought about it, trust me," she practically muffled her answer. Ser Alliser soon cut her a sharp look, apparently having heard what she said. "What brings you here, Lord Tyrion? I know for sure you won't be taking the black."

"I came here to admire the sights and see what life of the Night's Watch is all about." His answer was simple enough, she could tell he meant it with the ways his eyes kept looking up at one of the wonders of the world. "Have you looked over the Wall yet?"

"No," she admitted rather bitterly. With her constant cleaning duty, when could she ever have the time to? Not only that, her hatred for this place left her hardly wanting to find joy and the little beauty in anything about it.

"I see." Tyrion nodded before looking at the boy that came in the group of new recruits with him. "Over here," Tyrion told him, motioning for the boy to follow the order with a signal of his hand. "Aza, this here is Jon Snow. He'll be joining the Night's Watch."

Jon Snow. His name didn't leave the biggest impact on her but it was unforgettable, sort of. Kind of like a name you would remember rather than letting it breeze by to never skim across your mind again. Rather awkwardly, Jon stood before her and she gave him an uneasy once-over. Aza was never good at starting bonds, she usually left that entirely up to the other person.

"This is my friend, Aza." Her brow instantly quirked at the usage of the word friend. "Well…" he stumbled, shrugging a bit, "friend may be too strong a word, considering he tried to kill me once."

Aza snorted loudly at that, holding back a laugh. "It was just business, My Lord."

"Tis' a great story over some wine." The Lannister's eyes looked up at hers, almost pleadingly. "Please tell me that you do have something to drink here."

"Wine? I'm sorry to inform you that we don't have that fancy kind of drink 'round here," she made clear. "Beer? Now that we do have and lots of it."

How could someone look disappointed and satisfied all at once? She wouldn't believe the look to be true if she wasn't actually seeing it before her own eyes. Blinking a few times in pure curiosity, she watched Tyrion sigh in what sounded like defeat or maybe disappointment. The latter sounded much more reasonable than the former. "That'll do, I suppose." For the first time since he arrived, Jon smiled. The brooding look of him was gone for such a short span of time. Aza glanced his way, soaking in the sight, before forcing her eyes back at Tyrion. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to look around the place. Please, take care of my friend here. He's most excited to be here."

She thought she didn't hear right. He was excited to be here? A person really wanted to be here and stay? Aza scrunched her face up in a combination of disgust and disbelief. "Seriously? You're… you're excited to be here? Are you mad? Listen, we don't need anymore touched men 'round here. We have enough already."

The poor lad thought she was jesting and chuckled, not knowing she literally meant what she said. Aza was considering heavily that he was either crazy or stupid. "I've wanted to join the Watch for some time now." He actually admitted that and it seemed to ring true with the way his eyes were still marveling the place. Aza couldn't believe it. That someone willingly and happily came here on their own volition. He cemented, to her, that he was touched. He had to be… a lunatic. A pure lunatic. There was no way that the boy was sane. He couldn't be. She just couldn't fathom a sane person actually saying those words out of their very own mouth and truly meaning them.

"Why in Seven Hells would you give up your freedom for… _this_?" Aza emphasized 'this' with her arms, literally forcing him to look around again at this place as if his vision was foggy minutes ago and it'll clear up when he truly looked around him. Around him was this stronghold that couldn't even defend itself against an army and their greatest defense against the Wildlings was this huge Wall. How could the boy not see that none of this was well worth it? It wasn't worth anything except punishment. Her life here was punishment, but he meant this as a choice. It was something he _wanted_.

"I didn't have much else." A look of surprise came across her face, her eyes capturing the glimmer of hope in his own. What kind of life did he live where he thought this was his only choice? His life had to been something rough for him to give up his freedom and everything else for Castle Black.

Shaking her head, she released a long and tired sigh. Aza was mentally exhausted trying to figure him out, so she took her defeat with stride. "Well then…" Patting his shoulder, she meant to leave him to get a tour of the place along with his new black brothers. The mercenary was standing right as his side, facing the opposite way of him before turning her head to look at him. "Welcome to the Night's Watch, Jon Snow."


	3. Chapter 2: Lord Snow

**AZA**

The weather was much more bitter as of late. Today was colder than the norm, almost like frost was going to coat her face and harden into a thin layer of ice. Even the vapor that flowed and swirled out past her lips was much more visible than it ever was before. At this rate, her body was bound to adapt to this cold place or else she'd find herself ill and forced to be nursed by the blind Maester. The sudden drop in temperature was just a sign of much more colder days to come, she realized. Winter would be upon them soon, but first they had to endure the coming days of Autumn as Summer's lingering a touch left them day by day, inch by inch.

A pair of brown eyes lazily observed the courtyard, Rowan at her side for a time and doing very much the same as she. Whenever they managed to be unnoticed by Ser Alliser or the rest of the senior members, they had liked to roam around and contemplate on a few things or maybe even watch the practices just to bid on who'll win or who fought best. All of that time spent brought a sense of ease whenever the days were slow or not filled with duties that couldn't be completed early. Right now, there was a practice with Ser Alliser monitoring it as per usual. The only reason she took the slightest of interest was because it was the newer recruits and Jon Snow was in the lot. Aza hadn't learned a lot of their names yet, but their reputations left one leery and one eye open during the nights.

"He's a bit lonely, isn't he?"

Rowan's question left her confused mainly because she wasn't acutely aware of who he was speaking about. "Who is lonely?"

"Lord Snow." That's what Thorne named the sullen boy since his first practice and every since then, everyone else began to call him that too. She learned he was given that name because he was the bastard son of the infamous Ned Stark, the honorable Warden of the North. It instantly made people dislike him. After all, why wouldn't they? He was the son of a high noble, the First of Men, and so it was clear he couldn't understand a fraction of what life had been like for most of the outcasts who were made to be here.

He was always fed, never having to fight anyone for anything that he wanted or had because it was considered well-deserved for someone like him. The only sad thing about it all was that the boy wouldn't inherit anything since he had brothers, trueborn, that would take everything his father had and leave him absolutely nothing when his father should die.

Aza, herself, was jealous over much more simpler and personal matters. Jon Snow had a large family, she heard. He had three brothers and two sisters, even if they were half-blood, they were his. Since he was a bastard and father was his own, she assumed his mother didn't reside with them. She halfway didn't know if he ever even knew the woman or not. If that was so, then they had that in common. One parent had been missing from their lives, which would make them long for that parent the both of them had been missing since they were born. Aza never knew her father. She never met him and she didn't even know his name. All she knew was that he was dead. He was some nameless dead man that her mother never wanted to speak about.

"Oh, I think he broke Grenn's nose!"

The girl shook her head, not sharing Rowan's excitement since she was disappointed in the fight entirely. It wasn't well worth the watch. In fact, she found it rather sad. "Grenn couldn't fight worth a damn." Sighing, she rested her face against the open palm of her hand as her elbow used the rail for support. "Thorne's breeches are going to be riding somethin' fierce now."

She could hear the Master-at-Arms' shouting all the way from here. After he got done picking apart Grenn and the rest of the boys that lost, he would turn all his frustrations out on Snow. Part of her wanted to hope Throne found a new person to torture and the other part of her felt sorry for Jon Snow if he would be her replacement.

"Poor bastard, huh?" The both of them watched Thorne scold Jon. "He took down everyone Ser Alliser threw at him and he still won't give him a break."

"Winning doesn't mean anything." Even though it felt good to have your winnings be praised and noticed, she understood why Ser Alliser didn't congratulate anyone just for winning, especially a spar. He believed it would make a person too cocky, that they'd always believe they would win and end up getting their head lopped off. They would be too blinded by small victories to acknowledge the fear of death. She hated that man with a feeling something fierce, but she understood that much. She could at least agree with that method of his.

"Did you see the wolf that came with him?" Rowan was in a talkative mood, which wasn't out of the norm, but still a bit unusual since all he kept talking about was Jon Snow. She hadn't realized that Snow was just that popular around here since he first arrived. Not only was Jon Snow stealing Ser Alliser's scorn, but her popularity as well? She could kiss the boy for giving her peace without even trying. Now she could finally not be the center of attention and could hide as well as save herself from a whole bunch of trouble she always found herself in.

Aza fixed a dull look at him in response to his question. "You think I didn't notice a fucking white wolf roamin' 'round here? They had to force the beast into the stables. I almost wet myself when I first laid eyes on it."

That made him laugh, so loud that he captured mostly everyone's attention. Cringing almost, mostly at the fear of getting into trouble, she caught Jon Snow raising his head and looking up at them with curious eyes. It was a good thing he didn't know what Rowan was laughing about or else she'd feel even more embarrassed. Not only that, she called his wolf a beast and practically thanked the gods it was in the stables. He wouldn't have liked to hear that, would he? Surely that animal was a companion and he held a whole lot of love for it.

It was during this battle of stares that she had noticed that while the rest of them lost their interest in Rowan's loud laughter and set their way to the armory to put the weapons back, none of them stayed behind to walk with Jon. Now that she had thought about it, she didn't really see him speak to anyone. He was always alone, whether it was in the hallways or the common hall. She knew of the Lord Snow whispers, but she had thought he had at least one friend or something close to one. It seemed to her that he was really by himself, everyday and always. Even his uncle left his side, fulfilling his ranger duties by going North of the Wall to the haunted forest, she remembered.

Aza watched as Jon Snow left the courtyard to head his way towards the armory, wearing that sullen look like he had when she first laid eyes on him. For some reason she felt guilty and she wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't her fault that the boy was all alone. It wasn't her fault that people didn't like him because of what he was or who he was. Perhaps he couldn't make friends easily. What was she to do about it? Jon Snow wasn't her responsibility. He had to fend for himself, just like everyone had to while they were here. Funny how they were all supposed to be brothers, but nobody was really like family in a place like this.

"Looks like our little show is over, huh?" Aza bristled while glancing at Rowan, stretching her arms above her head. With a loud yawn, she then let them flopped back down to her sides. "We best get moving before Thorne remembers we weren't doing nothin' and gives us somethin' to do."

Rowan nodded so quick, she almost thought she imagined it. The both of them scurried off, going their separate ways by him going to the common hall while she roamed the courtyard. Aza wanted time to breathe by herself since her mind kept nagging at her that maybe she should do something about Jon Snow; the lonely boy, the hopeful boy, the boy that thought so highly of the Watch. He really thought this place was going to be well worth it and he looked disappointed every time a day rolled by. Unlike Rowan, Castle Black was starting to lose its charm on him.

Why did she even care, really? Was Aza just a sucker for the naïve? Sometimes she thought so. You would think a mercenary would prey on them before they helped them, considering how much of an easy target they were. It may have all stemmed back down to the fact that her mother did not have the time to warn her of how cruel the world was and how her uncle was the perfect example of it all. If someone had been there to tell her what to expect from people and having your dreams crushed, she might've lived a different life.

The only difference was that Jon Snow couldn't escape from this. The Night's Watch was forever until you die and so the only thing she could do was give him a reason to find this place worth half a shot. It wasn't though, she warned him it wasn't, but it was really too late. So how could she prove a point to him of which she, herself, didn't believe?

The boy was old enough to take care of himself and grew up far, far away from poverty. He didn't need someone holding his hand some more. He needed to toughen up. He needed to learn and fall on his ass a few times. Aza was not his mother nor his sister nor his lover. She wasn't even his friend. He was not her responsibility in the minimalist to the largest of senses. It would be stupid to make it so. So why did she feel so guilty? Why did she keep picturing the way he looked at her before she saw him practically drag his feet to the armory? Why did she notice the light of hope in his eyes becoming smaller and smaller every time she saw him?

"I don't care." Sometimes she blamed it on being a woman whenever she felt compassion. It was easier to blame her gender for certain things she hadn't liked about herself. Compassion wasn't just a woman's trait, she knew that well enough, and it was a good thing to have except for the fact that she didn't want it. Compassion had a chaotic power imbalance. It could either make you weak or strong, and she didn't have the time nor the patience to be weak. Weak was the last thing she ever wanted to be again. "I. Don't. Care!"

"You don't care about what?"

Becoming like a frozen block of ice, Aza remained completely still in that one spot. Slowly, but surely, she thawed out and turned around to see Jon Snow standing before her, looking at her as if she was every bit of a madman. He had every right, she had been by herself and nearly screaming "I don't care" like she was talking to someone.

"I don't care…" Briefly did Aza look around, her mind trying to hurry up with an excuse. She eventually presented him a rather nervous smile. "I don't care for this cold." Rubbing her arms in efforts pretend that she had been freezing and tried to warm herself, she hoped this act of hers was truly convincing. "I was born in a place of warmer air." At least that had been truth. She didn't care for the cold and she didn't think she was really meant for it either. "I'm still not use to the North and its… bitter cold."

He looked convinced and she couldn't even believe that he believed her. She just watched, dumbfounded, as he gave her a nod and empathetic look. _…Not only is the boy a lunatic, he's even more stupid than I thought, s_ he said to herself in her shock. "The North is cold, but this place is colder."

What did he mean by that? Did he mean Castle Black was colder than most of the North or did he mean the weather had gotten colder than the norm? It sounded so vague, the way he had said that. Aza could barely think that he actually meant the nipping winds when she thought about it some more. "Your name is Jon Snow, yeah? Your name alone sounds like Winter itself, but not only that, you're from Winterfell. I figure some cold wouldn't bother you."

He laughed at that. His eyes crinkled at the corners, shimmering with mirth as he lips were in the shape of a broad smile. That was the brightest smile she ever saw Jon Snow do and it was almost a little unnerving to see it. In fact, she wondered if he could produce another one without having to brood afterwards. "Winterfell is warmer than you think." He looked like was going to explain his words, but then he looked at her for some encouragement. It was like he was quietly asking if she wanted him to continue, so she gave him a nod. He gifted her a quick smile for that. "The walls have pipes with water from the hot springs in them to bring heat inside. Even though sometimes we may need a fire for a little more, we are usually warm."

"So, you're trying to tell me that because your name may be cold, you've never had yourself a cold home?" His nod was very slight, giving her reason to believe that assessment was not completely true. Whether it dealt with actual temperature or his relationships, Aza couldn't decipher and knew she was too much a stranger to pry.

"You're not from Westeros, are you?" he asked. It was natural for him to be curious of her origins. Most of the Night's Watchmen were, seeing as she stuck out compared the whole lot of them because of her whole foreign appearance. Maester Aemon seemed tickled by her accent most of all. He even made her speak her native tongue for him and asked her what a few greetings had meant because a "man is never too old to learn" as he explained. He butchered most of it, but Aza did enjoy speaking her native tongue, even if it was just for a short while.

"What gave that away, huh?" Rolling her eyes while sporting an ounce of a smile, she turned away from him to keep walking. He hadn't left, trailing behind her before picking up the pace and walking by her side. "But no, I'm not. I was born in the Summer Isles in the city of Ebonhead of the Sweet Lotus Vale in Jhala." There was a hint—a chunk to be more precise—of pride in her voice. She always spoke highly of the Isles despite the pain of the memories that resided there.

Jon took on a contemplative look, nodding ever so slightly. "Explains the speech and your look," he said, somewhat processing it all. "I take it your family decided to come here. Most foreigners come here for many of reasons."

"I came here by myself." Aza put an edge to her voice, leaving the statement sharp to warn him that she did not want to speak on the issue further. He gave her an understanding yet nervous nod, leaving it at that. The conversation concerning her past had ended right there. "I hear they call you Lord Snow 'round here. How do you feel about it?"

"I don't like it." The way he admitted made her laugh since his dislike for it was so clear with his tone and deep set frown. "It's not funny." He sounded serious, so she tried to be polite. It was hard, but she tried for his sake. He already had it rough, she kept trying to remind herself that in order to not poke fun at him as she desperately wanted to.

"Beats Yearling, though." It truly did in her eyes. Aza would've been loved to been called Lord Aza. Just the thought of hearing that made her grin in such a silly fashion but then sigh hopelessly. There were many reasons why she could never be a Lord. She couldn't even be a high Lady.

"Why do they call you that?" Bringing her steps to a halt since there wasn't much more to go at this point, she leaned against the nearby high gate and laced her leather gloved fingers together. He leaned his back against the opposite side, near where the gates met to make a corner, raising his left foot prop itself against it as well.

Wrinkling her nose, she let out a sigh before speaking. "The Lord Commander gave me that name. I came here angry and fussin'. He said I was like a yearling, an unbroken horse. I suppose that it was meant to say I was wild, but I took it as an insult. I thought it meant that they would break me, train me, and make me how they want me. That's what you do to a yearling, yeah? You tame it."

The name still left an awful taste in her mouth and yet she accepted it with no further complaints. She grew tired of arguing and everyone had a name around Castle Black that they didn't choose and mostly didn't like. It just wasn't up for one to decide what their nickname would be. "I never spoke to Commander Mormont after I saw him just that once. He never asked to see me, never asked to speak to me, and just never sought me out."

"If he told you it meant something else, would you learn to like it?" He posed a good point and Aza took a few minutes to think about an answer.

After thinking a few more second about it, she shrugged. "No, I don't think so. I never wanted a new name and I never wanted to be here."

"You were brought here because you were a sellsword, right? At least that's what I heard." She wondered who he heard that from. Was it one of the recruits talking about her when he was around or was it Tyrion Lannister? She supposed he really couldn't wait to tell the tale of how she was hired to kill him once. "You were in a company called the Red Irons."

"Aye, I was." Was had truly been such a hard word to say and yet it was the right one. She wasn't a mercenary anymore, but she had been clinging onto the occupation in her mind since she came here. A mercenary was her way of life for three years. It felt like more than three though, Aza felt she was one all her life up until this point. "Mercenaries like hiring children 'cause they think 'em easy to train; easy to manipulate."

"That sounds…" Awful? Unfair? They were the common responses and Aza understood it. "…Sad." That, however, was a new one. Aza rose a brow, questioning why he found it sad than he thought it bad. "Did you have a choice? They just took you without you asking?"

"I had a choice." Her stare was absent since she was in her thoughts, recalling the memory of that day as if it happened to her yesterday. Aza was once just a little girl with matted hair that hadn't been combed in months, her body smelling like the sea mixed with dirt and sweat while dressed in rags. She was a pitiful sight. A sight that Aza vowed to never look like again. "He asked me if I wanted to keep on smuggling for cheap thieves or if I wanted to learn the sword and feed myself. The choice was mine and I made it. That's what I loved about it. It was my choice to make from the start."

She knew he wanted to ask about her family, but she made it clear she didn't want to speak anything about them prior or this topic. Her eyes watched him, trying to see if he could ask around it to get her to admit anything about them. Aza hoped he was aware that if he pursued then she was allowed to pursue about his bastardy title as well.

"There's a reason why Ser Alliser named you Lord Snow, y'know." Aza changed the conversation, growing uncomfortable how everything was so centered around her. She still didn't know much about him, she only scratched the surface based on the things people told her and the little talk they had the first day he arrived in Castle Black. "He's an ass, yeah, but he chose your name right. That he did."

That struck a nerve. He was about to get defensive, explaining why he didn't deserve such a name, but she beat him to it. "You're green to the life of us lower than you. You have to understand that bastard or no, you're still considered our better 'cause of who your father be. Never mind who your mother was or is, whatever, but because you are the son of Lord Stark… You'll always be considered better than the likes of us."

"But not only are you better than us by rights," Aza said as she folded her arms and tilted her head ever so slightly. "You even think you're better than us, yeah?" Jon looked puzzled and angry, and a little shocked all at once. "You, a poor lil' bastard, that got to sleep in a bed in a castle that gets heat through its walls. You, a poor lil' bastard, that never had to fight for just a bite of food ever in his life. You, a poor lil' bastard, that had a father, brothers and sisters who were trueborn and never had to starve or look to you for their next meal. What a life, don't you think? Compared to the rest of us, that is. We'd kill the Stranger ourselves, charging forward bare as the day we were born to wring the god's fuckin' neck with our bleeding hands, and never look back just for all o' that."

Jon Snow was quiet, his head seem to hang low like he was ashamed. It could've been pity than it could've been shame, but he was feeling something. Her words were being fed and marinating in that head decorated with those black and thick, curly hair of his. "Then today? Boy, I saw you. I saw you beat those bloody idiots to a pulp at practice. You could've did it whether it was with one hand or one foot, yeah? I bet you can't even begin to understand just how angry the boys were. No doubt they still are. They probably planned to beat you in the armory, but poor lil' bastard, yeah? The same bastard that had a Master-At-Arms in Winterfell to train him. Just what did those boys have? Surely not a man as skilled as the one who taught you everything you know." Shrugging, she pretended like it was no big deal to let the words sink a bit deeper. "I suppose I can't speak. I, after all, learned from a mercenary that took me in at the age of three-and-ten. He was some strange man to me then, who could've sold me or done anything he thought a little boy was useful for, but he taught me to fight. He taught me how to fight and kill for coin. For survival."

He finally found the strength to raise his head, the both of them were staring at one another for a quiet minute's time. "The true reason why you're alone, Jon Snow, is because the people here can't find themselves in you and you can't find yourself in them because you won't 'llow yourself to. That's the thing with people; you need to find somethin' in common with one another in order to get on, even the smallest and stupidest of shit counts. The only reason why you reached out to me was because you thought I was safe. I'm no fool, y'know."

Aza felt like she lectured him enough and all the desire she felt to help him was now fulfilled. Pushing herself off the gate, she left Jon Snow to consider her words. What would he make out of them? She didn't know and she halfway didn't care anymore. Whatever he decided, what he thought best, and whatever was to come afterwards was no longer of her concern. She helped him as her gut kept begging her to and that alone was enough.

* * *

If she had to choose what part of the day she liked while in Castle Black, she would say that she enjoyed when all of the recruits gathered for supper in the common hall. Conversations were all around, laughter more present than it ever was, and the best part was eating. The food wasn't all that great; it was bland, sometimes hard, and often times cold, but it had been better than nothing. The soup was probably the tastiest thing here in Castle Black.

The whole feel of the evenings reminded her back when she was South, when she and her mercenary company used to eat together and share their stories. Even if she preferred being alone most of the time, camaraderie did bring a warm and pleasant feeling like a belly full of soup after spending some time in the cold. It was comforting to know you can talk to someone and laugh with them. It felt good to not want or be alone once in awhile.

"—And then…" Rowan was practically trying his best to not choke on his food from laughing while telling his story. "And then she tells me, "Half for outside, full for inside." I fooled her good and did both and then I asked her, "Well, what's half of a full price?" she looked at me and I swore she killed me dead twice in her head. Fuck if I cared, though. I got a good lay for only a few silver stags." Aza rolled her eyes as the other men laughed,. She simply didn't find the story as humorous as they did. Whores had to deal with so much, she thought. She would've killed Rowan had she been that sally that he practically ripped off and cheapened to likes of a back-alley whore.

Examining her piece of bread, she noticed that it was either made to bake a little too long or left out more than it should've been. Since she was poor once, it didn't disgust her, even after she was able to taste the best foods made by the most talented of chefs coins could buy. Her taste palate just didn't discriminate; food was food. She dipped it into the soup to hopefully soften it and tried to make sure it didn't get too soggy at the same time. "You never tell us any stories, Az." Raising her brows, she looked over to the rest of the people at her table, who were now fixated on her. "You should have some bein' in the Red Irons and all."

Wrinkling her nose a bit, she gave a halfhearted shrug as she took a bite out of her soup-lathered bread. "I do have me some stories to tell," she told them with her mouth full of bread. That was one of the beauties of being a man or pretending to be one, that is. She didn't have to follow proper etiquette like ladies do. She could sit how she wanted, talk with her mouth full, and nobody would feel insulted because they did it too. She could get dirty and nobody would nag that it was "unbecoming" for her to be so. Most of all, she could wear breeches and that had felt more comfortable than dresses. What more could a person ask for?

"Then tell some!" urged Rowan.

"C'mon, Aza, tell us somethin' excitin'." Another added with their eyes glistening with a look of something eager.

"You sound like a bunch of brats before bed," said Aza before she swallowed down her food. "Want me to tuck you all in after?" Laughing at their annoyed looks, she put down her piece of bread against the edge of the soup bowl and used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. "But fine, I'll give you a story."

Before she could start, the doors of the common hall had opened and captured everyone's attention. The two that came walking through were Tyrion Lannister and Jon Snow. They met every eye that looked at them fearlessly with their own. Seeing how guarded he looked, Aza took it upon herself to observe the room, and she could see many different reactions towards him. His own peers made their dislike for him clear, like it was written in bold letters across their heads. Others didn't seem to care much, so they looked away. Her lot looked him over and then paid him no mind, only further verifying that Jon Snow really had no friend in this place.

"That…" Tyrion took a couple more steps to her table, leaning against it as he climbed onto the bench from the other side of her. "That was a bit… uncomfortable I should say." Of course it was. Nobody likes to be watched and disdainfully so. Tyrion was making friends around the Watch, she supposed, but his presence here wasn't well-received by all.

"You didn't ask if you could sit here, Lannister." Aza spoke up, only teasing since she couldn't actually tell Tyrion Lannister where he could and couldn't sit even if she wanted to.

"I didn't know I needed your permission, but because I'm so courteous… Aza, my old friend, may I sit here?" He played her game, even though he clearly looked as if he wasn't going to move.

"You may… I suppose." Picking up her cup of ale, she took a sip and stuck out her tongue just seconds after, trying to rid the taste from her mouth. She figured if her tongue get some air, she might not taste the ale anymore. It was gross and you would expect men forced to live in these conditions would at least know how to make a good cup of ale. It was a shame to be stuck with this likes of this… for life, most of all.

"You know, this group you're with seems to fit you," noted Tyrion, making Rowan and the others ponder his words. Half of them weren't smart to decipher it if that was an insult or not. It wasn't, at least she didn't think so. "Do you like being around such rough looking fellows all the time?"

"Like you enjoy being around your whores and high lords, I enjoy being around men with character." Aza supposed he really meant Chett, the boy's face was covered with boils and had a rather nasty cyst on the back of his neck. Sometimes Aza wondered when that thing was going to bust and how she hoped she wasn't around to see it. "They remind me of my men down South. You remember them, don't you?"

"Of course, I remember all who try to kill me."

Rowan then looked over to her, eyes squinting with interest. "Why don't you tell us that story instead?"

Tapping the tips of her fingers against the table since her nails were too short and bitten to, she shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. A Braavosi man offered 20,000 silvers to anyone that brought them Lord Tyrion's head. The man was a fool because he was so angry that he lost a game of cards against a dwarf, he didn't even bother to know he wanted the death of Lord Tywin Lannister's son."

"I still can't believe I was only worth 20,000 silver stags." The Lannister scoffed before mumbling a thanks to a recruit that handed him a meal. He picked up the piece of bread and sunk his teeth into it. "I should've been worth more!" he said with his mouth full and now trying his best to swallow the bread bit down. He nearly choked and had to quickly take a sip of his hot soup just to make it all go down. "You can earn much more in a tourney that the King arranges every so often. They give gold dragons to winners."

"Who cares? 20,000 stags isn't a just bit of coins jumpin' 'round in your pockets, yeah?" Jon snickered to what reason she didn't know, but she hadn't liked it. So she cut him a glare, making him suddenly stop and then look away, like he never even laughed. She really wanted to ask what he found so funny and only decided not to on the cuff.

"But why didn't you kill him?" Rowan asked. "What about the prize coins?"

"You've met our Lannister friend here, haven't you?" She smiled. "He told me that if I kill that Braavosi idiot then he would give me 20,000 gold dragons. You can guess who died, can't you?"

Tyrion smiled at the memory himself, mentally priding his Lannister name and gold. "That's how being a Lannister works. We can always outbid our enemies as well as outwit them."

"Fuck all that outbidding and outwitting nonsense," Aza scoffed. "You never play cards with a Braavosi in the first place unless you're an idiot." Taking another sip of the horrible ale, she squinted as she tried to ignore the foulness just to quench her thirst as well as her satiate her need for a buzz.

"That's… That's a saying?" Jon Snow inquired, unaware of the rules to playing cards.

"Aye," Aza answered. "It's one of three: Don't play cards with a Dornishmen—it's impossible to tell when they're bluffing. Don't play against a Westerosi, either—they never pay their debts—"

"Except for Lannisters," Tyrion jokingly inserted, downing his cup of ale. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

Rolling her eyes about the Lannister bit, she finished the saying; "And never play against a Braavosi—they'll kill you if they lose." It was amusing, the childish wonder that shined across Jon Snow's eyes. How sheltered the boy was truly amazed her. He was more lucky than he ever even knew. "That's one of the main rules in the South." Giving Tyrion a dull stare, she rolled her eyes. "The dwarf didn't remember."

"I did remember," the Lannister lord replied. "I just didn't think he'd be that stupid."

"Men are always that stupid when they lose more than 5,000 stags." She couldn't even begin to remember how many people hired mercenaries whenever they lost some silver and gold over gambling. You could say it was unlucky idiots like them that kept the sellsword business afloat half the time.

"Not everyone can be like you, Aza." Her brow quirked at that statement, curiosity riddling her. "I don't suppose you hold anything dear, do you? No lover, no prized possessions." She didn't like the way Tyrion and Jon Snow were looking at her. She didn't like people being too curious about her life. She had Rowan to rightly blame for that right now.

"I don't like having _those_ kind of attachments." She made clear, not wanting to discuss it any further.

"I don't think anyone does." Tyrion glanced down at his cup of ale before looking back up at her. "But that's the thing, isn't it? Something always claws its way into you."

"I've gotten by far and good enough without that happening to me." Pushing herself up from her seat, she found her patience growing thin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be going to bed. I have practice in the morn and the last I want is Thorne giving me a rough time and me not nearly awake enough to not want to kick him in the throat."

 **JON**

As he left the common hall, he could still hear Aza's voice in his head. It wasn't the first time though. In fact, he heard heard Aza's words in his head ever since this morning after they talked. _"The true reason why you're alone, Jon Snow, is because people here can't find themselves in you and you can't find yourself in them because you won't 'llow yourself to."_ He kept hearing it over and over, ghosting around every thought that seem to come and go through his mind. He knew it was because Aza was right. He was right about everything he said to him earlier. Tyrion's own words seemed to agree with him too, which made him feel worse. The Lannister told him the stories of Pyp and Grenn; why they were forced to join the Watch and making him see why they felt the way did about him.

What was was he supposed to do then? How could he show everyone that he was just like them? That he was more like them than they thought due him being a bastard and all? Sure, he may have not understood poverty and he did recognize he lived a better life than they did, but he knew how it felt to be an outsider. He knew how it felt to be looked down upon. Lady Stark had made him feel small and unwanted all his life. And with a brother like Robb? Nearly perfect, groomed to be his father's rightful heir since birth? He knew what it was like to be in the shadows. So how could he show them that?

His feet were taking him to the cell he knew Aza took to himself. When he found it, empty and comfortable, he left the old Flint Barracks. It was easy to take a cell for your own now since there wasn't many people as there used to be in the Night's Watch. Jon took the cell in Hardin's Tower seeing as he never felt he had a place in the old Flint's Barracks with the rest of the recruits.

As soon as he reached the cell's doors, Jon wondered if it was a good idea to bother him. Still, he had something to say and he couldn't hold it in for tomorrow, considering they had different duties to fulfill during the day. It was a rare occurrence for them to cross paths half the time. Seeing no use in leaving since he was already here, he knocked twice on the cell door and waited.

The wooden door opened, his eyes looking down to meet the Summer Islander, who looked halfway annoyed. His eyes were squint, almost like he was actually asleep and Jon forced him to wake up. "I…" Feeling awkward and guilty, he thought it might've been best to leave. "…I didn't mean to wake you."

"What do you want, Snow?" Aza forced the door all the way open, allowing him entry. Scratching the side of his head, Aza returned to his cot and kept himself sitting up with his eyes still squinting. He sniffed quite a few times as he tried to blink himself fully awake.

"I wanted to talk to you." Seeing as lying served him no real purpose here, he decided to remain honest of why he came all the way here. "I thought about what you said." Looking down at his feet, he let out a sigh. "About finding yourself in other people."

"What of it?" It shouldn't have surprised him how much Aza didn't seem to care or was pretending not to. It could've been the fact that he was forced awake that made Aza grouchier than the norm. Still, if Aza didn't care, then he doubted that he would've expected an explanation.

"What you said wasn't true," he said as kept himself still standing awkwardly by the door. "I mean to say that you were right that people try to find themselves in other people but you were wrong about me." His eyes caught Aza slowly sitting upright instead of slouching. "I found some of myself in you." It felt even more strange to admit that, for several reasons. "Sellsword or no, you help people. I don't know why you do it, but you do. I like to think it's because you actually care…about people, I mean."

All he received was a stare, mostly one of astonishment. Aza looked away from him, briefly, and then back at him like he couldn't believe what he heard. Suddenly, the Summer Islander hunched forward, slapping his knee as he burst into a fight of laughter. "Gods, you're a bloody idiot!"

Frustrated, Jon merely watched Aza take enjoyment in all of this. What for? He was trying to be a better person. He just wanted his brothers to like him. He was tired of being alone and tired of people thinking he was some stuck up, bastard noble and for what? To be laughed at?

"I care about about people? Me? Caring about people? _I_ care about people when I'm a glorified, hired killer? Oh, this is _rich_!"

Jon cursed himself, not understanding why he even bothered to try. Maybe he should just give up and stop trying with people. He didn't care if they all hated him now. He tried and that was all he could do. Now he just wouldn't bother with anyone. He would work his way into being the ranger that he always wanted to be without worrying about anyone or anything else.

"Every time I think that you can't be even more stupid than I already think you are, you go ahead and prove me wrong." Frowning, Jon's grey eyes glared at the boy from their corners as he thought to leave. He didn't have to stay and listen to more insults. Seeing no real reason for him to linger, he opened the door but found his feet heavy as lead when Aza spoke again. "I suppose you're stupid enough to be friends with. Someone has to look out for you, yeah?"

His head quickly turned to look at Aza, who was already lying back down on the cot. Jon's lips slowly rose at the corners as he tried to find the right words to say, if there were any. Looking back at Aza and then back towards the door, Jon left the cell to go to his own in Hardin's Tower.

* * *

A/N: The next chapter will be Aza meeting Sam.

Minstorai - I hope you enjoyed their little banter this chapter. Tyrion is hard but kind of easy to write? I don't know if that makes sense.


	4. Chapter 3: The Boy from Horn Hill

**JON**

"They've been fightin' all day."

It was said with such annoyance mixed in with the slightest bit of relief. Jon was well aware that Grenn had no real problem with this spar, he just had to pretend to be for Ser Alliser. Jon hadn't cared though. Why would he? He was actually faced with a challenge for once since he first began practice. It was only unexpected because it was Aza that was his opponent since Thorne only held practice for the recruits in their respective groups. It was by some off chance that they saw Aza carrying a barrel towards a stack. Just the sight of the Summer Islander made Ser Alliser call him over to practice for reasons quite unknown to Jon. For one, they were both the best fighters of their groups, but Jon had no doubt in his mind that Ser Alliser was trying to get a kick out of making them beat a number of hells out of each other.

Aza was nothing like anyone in his group or anyone he ever fought to be exact. He was a mercenary, his swordplay was what kept him alive for protection and putting food on the table. Jon could freshly remember the stories they both shared in the common hall about their sword training. He talked about Ser Rodrik Cassel and Aza talked about Hadrian Rivia, his former leader and mentor. Hadrian Rivia had been a Dornish man with an unpredictable style that Aza admired and shaped into his own swordplay.

His blood began to beat an erratic tattoo in the tips of his fingers, and his nerves were constricting his throat. Aza swayed and spun, so unpredictably that it made him woozy as the finesse of it all was so foreign. It was already so strange to fight someone who used their left hand instead of their right. Aza told him it was called the "power hand' or at least that's what he had been told. Jon always thought the right one was strongest, but with the way Aza could make the steel whip around and clash against his, he couldn't call him a liar.

Aza stalled Jon's strike, but it hadn't deterred him from pressing on. Jon's sword was practically shivering upon the weight he put on it, which made Aza grin instead of growing frustrated. His temperament was better with a sword in his hands than he was without one. Strange, really, Jon would've thought it'd be the opposite.

"Is that all you got, Snow?" Aza had managed to match his strength, getting the dull blade nearly pressed to his face.

The taunt made him smile, but it didn't make him stupid. "Only if that's all you can throw."

"What you two gonna do? Kiss?" Ser Alliser commented as Jon's own cold, rough steel was nearly pressed to his face with Aza's coming much closer. "Make Lord Snow yield and let us be done with it. We don't have the time nor the care for your childish games. I told you to fight, not to play like a bunch of mangy boys." Jon nor Aza were Thorne's favorite, but it was obvious who he loathed more.

"Hey," Aza whispered, eyes suddenly paying attention to something over his shoulder. "What's that over there?" Curious, Jon slowly moved his head to look over his shoulder, just to feel a hard kick to his side that knocked the wind out of him and brought him down to one knee. "How you let yourself fall for the oldest trick in the book? Idiot."

"That was a cheap shot!" he shouted, laughing as he held his throbbing side just to wince seconds later. A hand stretched out before him for him to take, his eyes glanced at it with the briefest of observations of how small it was compared to most men. Without second thoughts, he took the proffered hand and hop himself back on his feet from the mighty pull of Aza's grip.

"You think these Wildlings are gonna be fair, Jon Snow?" Aza lowered his sword, signaling that the spar was over. "Think they're gonna yield to you when they're beaten or disarmed?" Aza eyes glanced at the group, who were watching them with mixed reactions, before looking back at him with a slight cant of his head. "You wanna be a ranger so bad, yeah? Then you better start thinkin' like one and let that code of honor of yours get a lil' loose from here on out." For the first time, Jon thought he caught a look of approval come across Ser Alliser's face. It disappeared just as quickly as it came, almost making Jon believe he might've imagined it.

It wasn't like Aza didn't tell him a point, a very valid one at that. Wildlings and yielding? All his life he heard of them to be savages, but that didn't mean they ( the Night's Watch ) had to echo them. Jon believed in honor. Honor was everything important to the Starks. He wasn't a Stark though, at least not by name, but he was by blood and that mattered enough. That mattered enough to live his life as honorably as his father did.

One of the recruits came running down the steps and into the courtyard, most of them watching as he made his way to Thorne. Whatever they spoke about was done in low voices, making both the group curious as Ser Alliser looked them all over. "Keep on practicing," he demanded, "I'll be back to train you misfits."

Jon and Aza glanced at one another, their curiosities written all over their faces. "I didn't know anyone was scoutin'." Aza finally broke the silence, pressing the blunt sword's tip into the ground for him to lean on. Jon remembered when he first did that and got scolded for it, but Ser Alliser freshly left them and he doubted that the former mercenary would care if the Master-At-Arms would be infuriated about that or not.

"I didn't either." Yoren had left yesterday to King's Landing with Tyrion Lannister going with him. He remembered because Tyrion had promised Aza to tell a few of his friends that he was still very much alive. There was no way Yoren was back already, so who else? He decided not to think too much on it. They'll know soon anyway. "Another round?" he suggested, his pride still unfree of its wound. He also didn't like the fact that Aza had won over such a unsavory trick.

"No." Frowning, he watched Aza yank the sword from out of the ground and casually place the flat side of the blade against his shoulder. "You told Grenn and Pyp that you were going to help them, yeah?" It was one of the ways Jon said he was going to try and redeem himself. Aza had been all for it when they discussed it in the common hall just the other day. Giving a slow and reluctant nod, he watched the Summer Islander give him a lazy salute before turning his heels to head his way towards the armory.

"Wouldn't it been better if the both of you give us lessons?" Pyp suggested, saying it loud enough since Aza was still within earshot.

"The fuck I look like?" Aza stopped in his tracks and looked at Pypar from over his shoulder. "Jon Snow has more patience than I do and I enjoy beating the shit out of people, 'specially you, Monkey. Think I forgot how you stole my bread? Would you rather I get my vengeance and break your skinny, lil' legs or would you rather my pretty friend give you some pointers?"

Snorting, Jon watched Pyp's look of hope turn into one of fear. He quickly shook his head and then turned away, showing what his answer had been.

 **AZA**

"Your Valyrian surprises me. Tell me, child, who was it that taught you?"

It was not the first time she heard that and Aza doubted it would be the last. Normally she would take offense to such words, but Maester Aemon was a kind man. He offered words of wisdom whenever he could whether you asked for it or not. He did it because he thought you needed them because he genuinely wanted to help. She ultimately knew better than to take his words as a slight. In fact, she actually found herself smiling and was more than happy that he couldn't see it. It was such a childish display on her part, at least she thought so. "Most Summer Islanders are taught Valyrian when they are small," she explained for what felt like the thousandth time to the thousandth person. "I learned most of it from my mother and my uncle."

"Oh?" Genuinely surprised, the old man turned to face her since his eyes could not.

"Dragonlords once looked to the Summer Isles for slaves. The princes of the Summer Isles were more than willing to give them their own people for a price." The knife in her hand sunk down to cut the raw slab of meat. After practice, you had to work and her work was to help Maester Aemon for the day. "There are no more Dragonlords, but slavers still remain." She used the flat side of the knife to slide the meat slices aside once they began to pile. While she worked without effort, Aza was really trying her best not to let her emotions get the best of her as she spoke. "A potential slave ought to know the language."

Knowing that silence would let her mind wander to depths she didn't wish to remember, she kept up the sound of the knife to the board. She wanted a distraction for she regretted in allowing herself being so open at that moment. Without thinking, she feared she gave a reason for Aemon to wonder. _To ask._

"I take it slavery has affected you as well," he said to her just as she feared. Aza knew there was no way she could brush it off without being rude.

"It has," she told him, her head imploring her voice to be even toned.

"Does being near me make you uncomfortable, child? I imagine it would." Puzzled, Aza hovered the knife over the next portion of meat she was about to cut.

Looking at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw him stalling himself from finishing his task at the table. He was fooling around with herbs for what she assumed was used for medicine. How could he differentiate one leaf from another while being blind made her curious, but not enough to ask. "Why would I feel uncomfortable, Maester?"

"You cannot tell when you look at me?" If there was one thing Aza hated, it was being confused. Old people had a habit of being vague or talking in riddles, acting as if they wanted you to think and figure it out on your own. Why not just be upfront? Why not just make it easy for someone who didn't understand? "Has my age made me that unrecognizable?"

"Just spit it out, old man." Annoyed, she sighed and looked away from him. "I don't have the patience to think of what you mean."

Why he chuckled was unknown to her and she wondered if she should think it was because he thought her stupid. Why else? Old people always thought their youngers were stupid and that they knew everything because of the many years they lived. The man was older than most elderly she came across, he probably did know more than she ever could, but he didn't know everything. Only the gods were supposed to know everything and Aza had reason to believe that wasn't always true.

"Such a brazen child you are. I've met so many like you." Her brows began to knit together and twitch, showing her obvious frustration. He was basically implying that she wasn't special. He met hundreds like her and he'll meet another hundred more if time allowed it. "That rage inside will get you killed… _If_ you let it." Before she could warn him to stop trying to tell her about herself, his next words quieted her down. "My eyes must've lost their purple once I went blind. That's what happens when you're old, you lose things."

"You have Valyrian blood?" Her grip on the knife became like a vice. Her anger had it trembling within her grasp. " _Dragonlord_ blood."

"Targaryen to be exact." He knew she held a knife in her hand. He knew she could very well let her anger and prejudice towards Dragonlords get the best of her, but he told her anyway. "Does that bother you, child?"

It should. It very well should have bothered her, but Aemon was not the Dragonlords that thrived on slavery. He did not steal her ancestors or the people that were taken from the Isles today. He was not the reason why—

"No," she spoke softly, much more softly than she had even realized. "You're you," Aza found herself saying, "not them."

She hadn't caught him smile, having already looked away and kept her eyes trained back at the task before her. Aza let the knife glide and slice down at the meat, the repetition and her focus having calming her cloudy ire.

"Within you lies a good heart," Aemon said. "I hope you intend to keep it."

"That's enough out of you, old man," Aza playfully threatened, her face heated from the unnecessary compliment as she thought it to be. "Mercenaries don't have good hearts. If they did then they wouldn't be mercenaries."

"You are a mercenary no longer," he insisted, telling her what she already knew but chose to ignore. "You must let that part of your past go."

 _"You must let that part of your past go."_ His words echoed in her head, bringing a numbing sort of pain that was thin and the length of a needle that's only purpose was to pierce her. It wasn't fair that she had to keep letting things go. Just when she finally learned to love a part of her life that she fought so hard for, she had to let it go. Just when she on the verge of loving who she was becoming, she had to let pieces she attached to the unshaped identity go. Her eyes stung with hot, angry tears but she did well enough to not let them take form enough to fall. In fact, she blinked them away and swallowed her words and hurried to finish her task before the ravens squawk for hours on end due to their hunger.

Once finished, she began placing the chopped meat into a bucket, remaining quiet since her feelings were all over the place. Whenever she found herself in those moods, she either lashed out or kept pulling herself in. She wasn't Jon Snow. She didn't brood and she didn't pout. Just thinking of her friend, who could very much be a very pouty and petulant boy, made her lips tremble as she had to swallow her laughter. Sometimes when she needed herself a pick-me-up, she thought of arbitrary things; Pyp's flailing his arms in her headlock, Grenn laughing and then running when she told him that he was next, Rowan's stupid stories, and Jon Snow's broody faces.

"I will feed the ravens." Aemon's voice practically rattled her out of her thoughts, making her blink and stand there rather dumbfounded. "You are free of me today, Aza. Dähna hun."

"That was…" Arching her eyebrow, she canted her head and smiled without putting too much thought into. "…Actually pretty good, Maester."

"I have been practicing." He sounded genuinely pleased with himself and Aza couldn't stop herself from chuckling.

Using the washing basin to rid her hands of the smell and blood of raw meat, she rinsed and rinsed until she felt satisfied and her hands didn't feel slimy. As she left the Rookery, she knew it was time for supper in the common hall. She felt more tired than hungry, like she worked herself a lot throughout the day more than usual.

"Aza." Pausing her stride, she looked over to see Jon Snow, who seemed troubled by something. It shouldn't have came as a surprise. The boy was always troubled.

"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in the hall eatin' sup'?" His eyes looked away from her and then at the doors of the common hall, almost like he was unsure. He then gave a slight nod before walking alongside her and opening the doors, letting them in and taking a seat with Grenn and Pyp, who were already stuffing their faces.

"Where have you two been?" Grenn spoke up, eyes finally away from his bowl and up at them.

Aza shrugged her shoulders, pinching the rim of a bowl at the end of the table and pulling it towards her. "I had duties with the Maester."

"I was on Watch duty…" Jon said, his eyes looking at her to pass him a bowl. She glanced at him, nearly on the edge to tell him to get up and get it himself but sighed and passed him her bowl. "With Sam." He finished his answer, mouthing a thanks to which she rolled her eyes to.

Pyp rose his brows, his usual smile on his face as he spoke. "Prince Porkchop. Where is he?"

Aza hadn't met this Sam yet, but he seemed to have laid quite an impression on people. The name Porkchop for one and by the look on Jon's face, he hadn't been too pleased by the nickname. He didn't even like his own, but Lord Snow was better than Porkchop. Seven hells, Yearling was better than Porkchop. "He wasn't hungry."

"Impossible!" Pyp shouted. From what she could gather, this Sam must've been a big fellow. Then again, _everyone_ was bigger than Pyp ( except for Maester Aemon, but he's old and has an excuse ). He was all skin and bones, hardly had a bit of muscle or meat on his body. She could snap him easily despite being much shorter. Her body was cultivated for killing, even though with her size and build, she was best much more for swiftness and small places but her fist were nothing like feathers. Her arms and legs were toned enough to show she did not punch or kick lightly unless she wanted to.

"That's enough. Sam's no different from the rest of us. There was no place for him in the world, so he's come here." Aza wasn't sure if her preaching was rubbing off on him or this Sam person was just that spectacular to get Jon so worked up. She looked down at her food, all grey and reminding her of some sort of gruel with strange meat. _'What the fuck was Hobb thinking when he made this?'_ Considering she usually ate anything, even a bowl of brown, she didn't find this worth the risk. Aza slowly pushed the bowl back to the end of the table and took a piece of bread, settling on that for the evening. "We're not going to hurt him in the training yard anymore. Never again, no matter what Thorne says. He's our brother now and we're going to protect him."

His words touched her, just a little. More than she was willing to admit. Before she could tease him for being so sweet on this Sam, Rast interrupted her. "You are in love, Lord Snow. You girls can do as you please, but if Thorne puts me up against Lady Piggy, I'm gonna slice me off a side of bacon."

Raising a brow, Aza inspected Jon's reaction, to see a very much vexed look come across his face. He was plotting something and she was curious to know what it was.

"Rast, you're not so thin yourself," she quickly countered for Jon, mouth full of a bread piece. "If you can make bacon out of Sam then I can make me some pigeon pie out of you."

Grenn and Pyp's snickers made Rast's face red with anger, glaring daggers straight at her as she performed a toothy grin. Rast was nobody's favorite. He enjoyed being mean just for the sake of it. There was something about him that always made Aza keep an eye on him, but she was never sure what it was. Call it mercenary instincts that allowed her to be able to tell that you shouldn't keep your back towards him for very long. "You can't protect Sam forever, Jon. He's gonna need to thicken his skin to survive here." Aza said with a mouth full of food.

"He's thick enough," Grenn mumbled, making Pyp nearly spit out his food as he was brought to a raucous laugh. In unison, both Jon and Aza narrowed their eyes to give them both a glare of two vastly different degrees; Jon's was cold and hard while hers was hot and unrelenting. Pyp and Grenn straightened up and looked down, quiet now. Actually, they were quiet as Grenn and Pyp could ever be in any given situation.

"I know." Jon Snow sighed, finally tearing his eyes away from his friends. His spoon was hovering over the gruel as he stared at it in such a distrait manner. "I tried to tell him that but… he's just not cut out for it. I have to protect him. Nobody else will."

 _For fuck's sake… Do I have to take another child under my protection? They're supposed to be older than me…_ Aza thought, mentally exhausted already. Her body was already itching to lay down and have a good night's sleep. She was glad she didn't have watch duty tonight or else she'd probably fling herself over the Wall just to escape all of this.

With the way Jon was speaking and how Grenn and Pyp seemed so moved by his words, she knew how this was going to go. Aza knew firsthand that this Sam was going to be another idiot under her wing for her to watch over. First Rowan then Grenn and Pyp then Jon Snow and now this Sam. This Sam she never even met. Just a litter of stupid, teenage boys. But they were hers. They were her stupid, teenage boys now.

"What are we going to do about Rast?" Keeping her voice low, Jon slowly smiled at her suggestion, making her want to gag and roll her eyes to keep up her tough façade. Aza hated to be perceived as nice, she hated when Jon Snow looked at her as a good person. She wasn't a good person. She was a hired killer, a former one, but a hired killer nonetheless. Hired killers weren't nice and they definitely weren't good.

"We're going to convince him. _Really_ convince him." Aza slowly began to frown, brows scrunched together.

"Is this going to have anythin' to do with Ghost?" she whispered, praying she was wrong.

"Who can say no to Ghost?" Jon had such a mischievous glint in his eyes that made Grenn raise curious brow as Aza could feel her unease rising. She hadn't like being around the wolf, no matter how friendly or aloof it was. She was always scared that one day it might want to bite her for just any reasons its canine mind could conjure up. Now she would have to team up with it just get Rast off of Sam's ass and she began to wonder just what did she do to deserve such an uneasy life.

 **JON**

"Back off, mongrel." He could hear Aza say and Ghost whimpering because of it. The funny thing was, was that Aza was using him as a shield while pretending he wasn't. He wasn't sure why Aza couldn't admit his obvious fear of the direwolf, but what man likes to admit their fear of anything, even more so around friends or foes? "Jon Snow, if you don't get your beast away from me—I have nothing you want!"

"Quiet down, Aza." Jon had stressed, his eyes looking around to show the severity of the situation. They couldn't let anyone, especially the senior brothers, know what they were up to. "Ghost is just curious of you is all. He isn't going to bite."

"You say that…" Since the Summer Islander was too short to peer over his shoulder, he had to keep an watchful eye from Jon's side. "You say that now and then he bites me and I die."

"He isn't going to bite you and you aren't going to die." He found himself sighing, knowing that Aza wasn't going to believe him either way. It was a headache really, trying to figure Aza out. One moment, Jon could swear Aza was leagues older with his wisdom and experience, but now? He could most definitely tell that Aza was sixteen, barely a man grown.

It was still hard not to laugh though. His eyes kept watching as Aza would point, threaten, and then tremble at Ghost all at once. It was probably the funniest thing he had ever seen. Just to see someone who acts so tough and brave, practically fearless, was actually shaking in their leather boots at the sight of a wolf. Ghost was a pup no longer, but he was domesticated around the Watch like a regular dog.

When he figured that Aza could control his outbursts and they could move forward with the plan, they quietly headed their way to the Flint Barracks. Grenn and Pypar should already be there by now, waiting for them. This was all happening after they carefully watched Rast announce and head himself to bed after supper in the common hall. Pypar had done the spying, following Rast around until they were sure he was truly heading for bed.

Surprised by the sudden silence, his head swiveled to face Aza, who kept eyeing Ghost from the corner of his eyes. "He's not going to bite you." Jon insisted, mainly because it was easy to rile Aza and because he genuinely knew Ghost wouldn't harm him.

"Shut up and keep movin', will you?" Trying his best not to laugh, he said nothing and looked away from him before he wouldn't be able to contain himself. "I swear, you Westerosi bunch are somethin' else."

"What about the Summer Islanders?" Jon queried. "I'm sure your people have their faults and did things nobody considered the norm."

"I never said my people were perfect." Aza let out a long sigh, mostly out of irritation. "They sell their poor and fuck for any occasion. They fuck when somebody dies, they fuck when a child is born, they fuck because the moon is full. They just really, really like fucking and wine. I still don't get it to this day."

"I bet you weren't complaining when you had yourself a pretty girl in your bed." He felt jealous, just slightly. He felt jealous of anyone that could lay with a woman without their mind always shoving the possibility of a bastard child being born because of it. Aza was pretty young to be fathering a child, a bastard no less, but if his people didn't care about the repercussions, it didn't sound too far-fetched. After all, the king had his first child when he was just a teenage boy.

Aza let out something that was like a scoff. "I was too young to partake in such customs and then I left…"

Before he could actually learn something more about Aza, Grenn and Pypar came to view, standing before the door of the barracks. They were shoving one another as usual, most likely arguing. The two always played around and argued like they had nothing else to do. "What took you so long?" Pypar asked once he saw the both of them; "We've been stallin' the rest of the people tryna get in and they're getting antsy about not getting any sleep."

"Doesn't matter, we're here." Aza went to the tip of his toes, walking towards the stained window to take a peek of who was inside. "Rast is fast asleep, yeah. You three go in and do what you have to do. I'll be on the lookout."

"But…" Jon thought Aza would be another intimidating face before Rast. Rast couldn't and wouldn't dare fight Aza, so to have the best fighters and Ghost to make a stronger point would've been better. He had every reason to believe that this was Aza keeping his distance from the direwolf, so he knew that trying to convince him would lead into an argument. "Alright," he settled, looking to Grenn and Pypar, who nodded to say they were ready. "This is for Sam."

 **AZA**

It made her feel uneasy when Rowan came tapping on her shoulder, informing her that Lord Commander Mormont wanted to see her. She hadn't spoken to him since the first day she arrived and now, after all this time, he found her of some sort of interest. Did he find out about how they threatened Rast last night? That would mean he would've already gathered Jon, Pypar, and Grenn already. She silently prayed to the Seven that wasn't it since she knew well-enough he hadn't figured out that she was really a girl. There was no way he'd send Rowan to her about that nor would he not make a big deal about it. Besides, Rowan didn't think the news was dire and tried to soothe her by saying that the Lord Commander wasn't as scary as he seemed. She brushed it off with a 'what do you know?' and hurried her steps to the Commander's Keep.

Aza stood in front of the door rather awkwardly, trying to think of what sounded like a good excuse. 'We didn't do anything' or 'Rast is a liar', maybe a 'We're boys, that's how we play, yeah?' It all sounded so juvenile. She was a mercenary, she definitely could come up with something better than those three lines. More than anything, Aza didn't feel like getting into trouble for something so stupid. She had enjoyed not being in trouble at all for the past couple of weeks. She couldn't fight or else she'd either be thrown in the dungeons or be forced to clean. It was either cool her temper and just deal with being berated or cleaning. The Night's Watch had made her hate dealing with old men in general these days.

Without a way out, she gave the door two knocks with her bare knuckles and stood in front of the door. "Enter," Mormont said shortly after not giving her time to think just a little time more. She opened the door with trepidation and lead-footed steps.

Out of respect, she bowed her head to him and then looked around, seeing scattered parchments on his desk. He was standing in the middle of his quarters with a horn of ale in his hand. This place felt cozy and looked befitting for someone of his ranking. It made her feel so jealous since she had to sleep in a cell within a tower she wasn't sure that didn't feel like collapsing today but could possibly do so tomorrow. "You wanted to see me, Lord Commander?"

"Take a seat."

This didn't bode well.

Aza still played the obedient role and took to the chair opposite of his large seat. She could feel his eyes take note of every movement she made as he decided to take a seat as well. Her hands laid atop of her thighs, unsure whether if placing on the table would've been more appropriate.

"It has been a while, Yearling."

Tension began to sing through her gums when she clenched her teeth. "It has, _Lord Commander_ ," she practically spat, feeling all her efforts of being civil melting away.

"And you still hold animosity towards me." There was a hint of a smile in his voice despite it not being on his face. "I thought time would've changed that."

"Funny thing about time, Lord Commander. Time hasn't taken the name Yearling away from me." Aza's dull look made him crack a smile, much more visible than it was in his voice.

"I didn't say it out of offense." The man sat himself straighter in his seat before folding his hands and laying them atop of the surface of the desk. "I never quite explained it. I will, if you'd like to hear it." He was the Lord Commander, so why was he being so nice? Why did he care if she took offense or not? Any other lord wouldn't give a shit. She wouldn't even give a shit if she was in his place.

Swallowing any sort of piece of wounded pride lodged in her throat, she found herself speaking like an affable person again. She was quite sure that the Lord Commander wouldn't like her lowborn speech, he would rather her speak high and prissy like the highborns who said everything out. Aza had the luxury to speak how she wanted any other time, but if he was aware of her extensive vocabulary, he wouldn't like to be given the lesser. At least, that was what she thought. "You don't owe me anything, Lord Commander… But I would like to hear the explanation."

"You're stubborn and quick in temper, like a yearling. From the day I first saw you, I knew you'd be straightforward and that first impressions meant a lot to you." Trying her best not to frown, she wondered why someone like the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had been so observant of her. What was it about her that made him look, remember or even care? She was foul-mouthed and bitter about her circumstance. She disrespected him when she first met him. She loathed being here at the Wall. Why would he care about someone like her? "You are young, still a yearling, but you will eventually become more. Horses are reliable, cunning, and inclined to do well by others once you've proven loyalty. I can't trust half these new recruits, but I know that I can trust you."

"I can't believe you think it's a compliment to be compared to an animal." She was joking, of course. These Westerosi loved their animals and held them in high regard. The corner of her lips were slightly upturned, lighting the air and her mood. He noticed and she thought she caught a glimpse of a smile as well. When she blinked, however, she saw the stone face of a serious man.

"You and Jon Snow are the future of the Night's Watch," he further elaborated, answering all the questions she asked herself mentally. "The fact that you two have made quite a friendship eases me. What I truly need is for you both to keep each other on the right path. You are more honest and seasoned than Snow and he's more rational and forgiving than you. Dark times are ahead and I need you two prepared and ready to lead."

She watched him stand up from his seat, walking towards a shelf from the corner of her eyes. Aza then looked down at her hands, thinking more about what the Lord Commander told her. _The future of the Night's Watch, huh? That doesn't sound promising or desirable._ She couldn't help but think. Her heart, however, felt light and her adrenaline was coursing with erratic speed. It was a challenge she was willing to accept since what else could she do here? She could clean the floors forever since the Wildlings weren't her enemies as she claimed, but the thought of doing something worthwhile kept lingering and lingering.

"I believe you missed this." Settling on the table was her sword and just the sight of it had heart nearly leap out of its cage. This sword was like family. In fact, you could say it really was since it was an ancestral blade and passed down to each male member of her mother's family. She received it as a gift from her mother since her uncle couldn't wield any weapons and would likely sell it despite the sentimental value as well as tradition. It was a beauty, holding age and history along with its sharpness and its strength. To have been parted with it for so long made her sick and empty.

Her hands immediately went to touch the steel and wood covered brass that was the handle. It was a heavy sword that was the light as a cloud to her. It was exactly 38 inches long and made with Valyrian steel that was older than just about every single person here. "Thank you, Lord Commander." For once, she gave the man something close to a smile and he returned it with a knowing nod.

"Just…" He let out a long sigh, like a father who just wanted to make his child acquiescent. "Just don't kill Thorne."

Aza brightened, mouth parting into a grin. She played right into the role of the bad child. "Now that, Lord Commander, I cannot promise you. Now that you told me not to, I want to even more."

Although they were amicable, for now, he still proved that he was a senior and some things weren't just allowed. So he inclined his head to give her a warning look and she gave a nod, showing she would not seriously kill Ser Alliser. It just meant that she would have to save such a luxury for her dreams.

"You may leave, Aza." Sliding the chair back, Aza sheathed her sword and strapped it across her back. The feel and the weight made her somewhat feel like her old self. As she placed her hand on the handle of the door, Commander Mormont had a few more words to say; "I hope your fun last night came to be well worth it." Freezing, her eyes widened just slightly. "I never liked Rast."

Flabbergasted, she turned to look at him, but he was too busy reading through the many letters on his desk. Blinking rapidly as if to wonder if she had misheard him, she fought not to laugh as she left the Commander's Keep. She wanted to tell the boys how they even got approval from the Lord Commander for their prank on Rast and wouldn't have to fear getting themselves in trouble. Then again, she doubted that those three were finished with practice so soon.

But they weren't there, at least, Jon wasn't.

She saw Grenn, Rast, and Pypar and a few others, but she didn't see Jon Snow. Scrunching up her brows, she wondered where he could've been and then it suddenly dawned on her. Did Ser Alliser catch him? Did Jon take the blame for what happened last night? If she were to ask Thorne, no doubt she'd receive some nasty remark or even a lecture. He was either whetting the swords, polishing the armor or cleaning the common hall. The last one seemed more likely and that's where she fixed herself to go.

All she heard was talking from the other side of the door. One voice belonged to Jon, but the other? It was unfamiliar. Looking over to where Thorne was loudly instructing the recruits and back at the door of the common hall, she slipped her way in. "Don't you think it's a little bit unfair? Making us take our vows while they sneak off for a little sally on the side?"

"Sally on the side?" Jon echoed, astonished, but Aza broke out in a fit of laughter.

"That's a new one," she said rather breathlessly. "Sally on the side~" Aza repeated, feeling like she rather liked how the boy said it.

"Aza!" Jon called her name, more than surprised that she was here. She walked further in, boots clambering against the wooden floor as she looked down at the cleaning salt that they were made to brush on the table surface. "This is Sam."

Sam immediately put down the brush, trying to wipe his hands by using the sides of his clothes and only making a mess on them instead. She supposed he hadn't cared since who was he trying to impress really? Who were any of them trying to impress? They were all men or so _they_ thought.

"I heard a lot about you." He was fidgeting, his head lowered and his eyes trying to look at her long enough out of courtesy but would eventually look away. Aza never thought of herself as intimidating on sight, considering that she was probably the shortest recruit here. "Jon speaks very highly of you."

"Really now?" Arching her brow, she saw Jon roll his eyes and then look at the table, almost like he knew she was going to tease him. "You're making me blush." Cackling at his short-lived glare, she took a few steps until she was standing before their table. "I heard a lot about you too, Sam. Tell me about yourself."

"Well, my name is Sam… Well, actually it's Samwell, Samwell Tarly," he tried to clarify, smiling as he did. "I'm from Horn Hill, which is very much south of here."

"The Reach, yeah?" Both Jon and Samwell seemed rather surprised by her knowledge of that. "It's not too far from King's Landing. I've touched a little of your grass."

"How about you?"

Aza glanced at Jon from the corner of her eyes, seeing him pay attention at the task before him. He was courteous like that. He was always quiet whenever the conversation didn't involve him until he thought he had to interfere. Perhaps he was so mannerly because he was a lord's son. "I'm Aza and I'm from the Summer Isles. I spent most of my years in King's Landing working as a mercenary or as you Westerosi say, a sellsword."

"A sellsword?" he repeated, eyes nearly bulging out their sockets.

"Yeah, a sellsword. You know, people pay me to kill people and all other sorts of things. If someone were to put some coin your head, I'd kill you in a heartbeat." Samwell gulped, loudly, and she felt a sharp nudge to her side. "Hey!"

"You're scaring him." Pouting, her eyes looked back up to Samwell, who looked to be sweating. What for, really? Who would hire her? How would she be able to spend coin? "He was only jesting, weren't you, Aza?"

Who was he? Samwell's father? Aza gave him a long, hard stare before rolling her eyes. "I won't hurt you, Sam. I promise."

"I'm sorry…" His voice was quiet, becoming rather mousy in stance. "I'm just… I'm not a fighter and I'm used to people—"

"That's alright." Now she felt guilty for what she said and did. Samwell was a weak boy, which was why Jon was so protective of his well-being. She had no right teasing him. He didn't know her well enough to be able to tell if she was serious or joking. "What were you two talking about before I interrupted?"

"Girls," Samwell answered shyly, "and how silly it is that we can't defend the Wall unless we're celibate. It's absurd."

 _Boys,_ she couldn't help but think. Girls were always on the forefront of their mind after power, glory and coin. They were so easy, which was why women could easily manipulate them half the time.

"I didn't think you'd be so upset about it," Jon replied.

"Why not? Because I'm fat?" Samwell asked, a bit of offended. Aza withheld her laughter, clamping her hand over her mouth. "But I like girls just as much as you do. They might not like me as much. I've never… been with one. You've probably had hundreds."

"'Cause he's so pretty, yeah?" Aza tilted her head. "If they can get past how stupid and grumpy he is…"

Both Sam and Aza joined in laughter at the angry pout they received from him. "I'm not stupid and I'm not grumpy…" he mumbled, "but I've had the same as you, Sam." The both of them were now looking at her, making her a bit shell-shocked.

"I'm not a maid like you two since the both of you are so nosy." Taking a seat at the bench of the table, she enjoyed how the both of them looked at her as if she was all-knowing. She really wasn't. She had been with no one whether it was a boy or girl. It could never be a girl anyway unless she wanted her cover blown since whores in the brothel like to talk to whoever paid them. You could hardly trust your own circle, most of the time.

"What… what was she like?" asked Tarly, looking every bit as curious with wide eyes, completely like a child. How men became boys upon the mention of a girl was really strange in her eyes.

"Well…" Aza tried to to think of a woman that she thought was beautiful and there had been many. There were beautiful girls in the Summer Isles, beautiful girls in King's Landing, and other beautiful girls in the South and that she seen on her way up North. "She had yellow hair…"

"Yellow hair…" Samwell repeated, closing his eyes as if he were trying to imagine her. Aza found herself frowning, nearly disgusted but knew she had to play this part if she wanted to never elude she was a girl.

"And blue eyes that were really, really blue… Kind of like the ocean. She was very scrawny…" She mentally slapped herself. Scrawny was not how you described a girl, especially a pretty one. "I mean slender. She was slender, yeah. The wind could knock her heels up, though." It made her laugh because she couldn't believe what she was spewing but Samwell was eating it up, even Jon Snow.

"Did you love her?" Jon suddenly questioned, stopping mid-scrub so that he could steadily look at her.

That made it hard to answer. Love? Mercenaries didn't love. They didn't have the time for it. Lowering her eyes, she slowly shook her head. "No, I didn't. Love is rather messy for mercenaries, y'know." Not wanting to talk about herself anymore, she had every intention to solve her own curiosities. "I find it curious that the pretty Jon Snow is a maid."

"I came very close once," he said rather defensively, almost to prove that he could've been with a girl had it not been for a circumstance. "I was alone in a room with a naked girl but…"

"You didn't know where to put it?" Aza snorted, loudly, and felt her eyes ready to pool with tears as she tried to choke back her laugh. Samwell was smiling, knowing he had made quite a good jab at him.

"I know _where_ to put it," Jon stressed, very much annoyed.

"Was she… old and ugly?" Aza rose a brow, her head canted as she waited for him to answer Sam's question.

"Young and gorgeous." He smiled, slightly, almost like he was picturing the girl in his head. "A whore named Ros."

"What color hair?" Samwell must've had a vivid imagination to want to know everything, she thought.

 _He probably wants to think of her when he's alone at night,_ she couldn't help but think. She even began smirking as she thought she believed herself to be right.

"Red," answered Jon.

"I like red hair." Sam nodded before raising his hands, making a very provocative motion of a pair of breasts. "And her… her….?"

"You don't want to know." Aza rolled her eyes, losing all interest now. She closed her eyes, leaning against her fist as she propped her arm on the table. She decided to think about other things while the two of them went on and on about Ros with the perfect breasts. If she had Jon Snow so stunned then Aza was sure she was a beauty. Then again, boys were stunned by anything young and naked.

"What's my name?" That drew her out of her head, seeing how the tone of the conversation had taken on a rather serious air.

Samwell hurriedly answered, even nodding his head. "Jon Snow."

"And why is my surname Snow?" Aza straightened up in her seat, her eyes looking solely on Jon.

"Because… you're a bastard from the North."

"I never met my mother. My father wouldn't even tell me her name. I don't know if she's living or dead. I don't know if she's a noblewoman or a fisherman's wife… or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes, but I couldn't do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child? Another bastard name snow. That's not a good life for a child."

And he went on, scrubbing the table like he didn't pour out his heart. As if he didn't just give a sad and selfless speech that was true because it was his life. She wanted to say something, but she felt too cowardly. She didn't think anything that would leave her mouth now would console him. So she looked to Sam, who was looking at her, trying to figure out how they could bring Jon out of that sad mood.

With a quick idea, Samwell decided to tease him. "So… you didn't know where to put it."

That made Jon Snow smile, dropping the brush on the table to roughhouse with Tarly. Aza sat back, watching and smiling, that is until she felt _him_. She felt him right at the door. "Enjoying yourself?" Both Sam and Jon halted and immediately went back to the table to pretend to be cleaning again. "You look cold, boys." Thorne fully entered the common hall, closing the door and walking in, making her groan since she knew what was to come.

"It is a bit nippy," Samwell commented, rubbing his arms, and she shot a glare at him. He just didn't know what he started. He gave bait to a whole, lengthy lecture.

"A bit nippy, yeah, by the fire, indoors. It's still Summer. Do you boys even remember the last Winter? How long has it been now? What, ten years? I remember. Was it uncomfortable at Winterfell? Were there days when you just couldn't get warm, never mind how many fires your servants built?" Aza wasn't in the North or Westeros when the last Winter was around. She was in the Summer Isles, which were still warm and very much like Summer; humid in the day with a touch of cold winds late into the night.

Snow had narrowed his eyes, looking every bit as annoyed. "I built my own fires."

"That's admirable," said Thorne, mostly to mock him. "I spent six months out there, beyond the Wall during the last Winter. It was supposed to be a two-week mission. We heard a rumor Mance Rayder was planning to attack Eastwatch. So we went out to look for some of his men… Capture them, gather some knowledge. The Wildlings who fight for Mance Rayder are hard men. Harder than you'll ever be. They know their country better than we do. They knew there was a storm coming in. So they hid in their caves and waited for it to pass and we got caught in the open. Wind so strong it yanked 100-foot trees straight from the ground, roots and all. If you took your gloves off to find your cock to have a piss, you lost a finger to the frost and all in darkness."

All three of them were staring and Aza thought of the Lord Commander's words to her: _"Dark times are ahead and I need you two prepared and ready to lead."_ He couldn't have meant the coming Winter, did he? It felt like he meant more, more than what he was willing to share. It was like he knew for sure that they would know soon and she hadn't like that thought at all.

"You don't know cold. None of you do. The horses died first. We didn't have enough to feed them, to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy. But later when we started to fall… That wasn't easy. We should have had a couple of boys like you along, shouldn't we?" He stalked over to Sam, leaning towards him, threatening like he always did. "Soft, fat boys like you. We'd have lasted a fortnight on you and still had bones leftover for soup. Soon we'll have new recruits and you lot will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment and they will call you men of the Night's Watch, but you'd be fools to believe it. You're boys still. And come the Winter you will die… Like flies."

"I'm sure you'll hold a banquet for when we do." She wasn't going to just take what he said. Aza never took what he said unless she knew she was to get in trouble for it. What trouble would she get over a measly opinion? An opinion she thought to be more like the truth with the way he talked to them. "If we die, we die. I really don't care. You've been telling me we'll die since we came here, so what do I look like getting scared now?" Lifting herself off the bench, Aza adjusted her sword strap. "I just hope you die with us, Ser Alliser." She saw him sneer and she gave him a smirk before turning on her heels and leaving. Aza knew well enough she reserved herself for cleaning duty for that last bit, but she was all the more satisfied with getting under his skin to care.

* * *

A/N: Wow, I hope she fit in rather easily. I wasn't sure how I was going to go with this canon, but I'm pretty content with how I made it.


	5. Chapter 4: You're A Ranger Now

**AZA**

What could she possibly say? _"Sorry for your loss"_ or _"I'm sure your uncle is still out there"._ Which one would suffice? Which one would make him feel better? If she were in his shoes, she wouldn't feel better from neither one. This whole situation was disconcerting. It was already ominous enough that they sent him and few other rangers to a place called the Haunted Forest in the first place. Who honestly goes there anyway without thinking they might not come back? Why was it haunted anyway? Did many people die there, so their ghosts roamed the place? She'd doubted she'd get an answer. She was honestly much too hesitant to even ask, but what dampened her mood even more was the fact that Sam was the one to approach her about it.

People talk. What happened would've eventually came floating into her ears, but she was lucky enough to have it come from Sam. He had been the one to inform her of what she grimly missed. She couldn't find Jon anywhere and when she thought of going to his cell, she decided not to to out of consideration. She wanted to give him time to adjust. Her patience was never a virtue, so the time was going on much too long for her. He was most likely worried and sad, but why didn't he come to her? Samwell just happened to be there, so she couldn't fault him for that. What she could fault was Jon Snow mulling over what happened and being twice as broody than usual all on his own. He was usually so honest with her that she simply felt left out right now.

A row of benches were placed outside in the courtyard and she had been sitting alone, swimming ( drowning, really ) in her whirlpool of thoughts. Part of her wanted to be angry, but for what? Just because he hadn't told her about this news? He didn't have to. She only _wanted_ him to. Aza wanted to be a person that Jon Snow had trusted with these things because they were friends. It wasn't fair, at least on her part it wasn't. She kept secrets that she didn't feel the need to tell him. It was selfish, which she always acknowledged that she was. She was greedy; always thinking what's mine than thinking of what's ours and what's yours.

Recruits began to flock, taking their seats, and yet she had been too busy staring absently at the ground to really care. It was the sound of their boots crunching the snow and their idle chatter that alerted her of their arrival. Minutes flew by and she should've been paying attention, however, Aza was still quite stuck in her head. She was trying to get the gears turning to figure out why she was so selfish and why she was so… so _bothered._ Not in a good way, she was bothered in angry way. Actually, why was she… jealous? Of Samwell most of all. Why was she jealous that this person came so late into Jon Snow's life and was knowing all these things about him that she didn't? She had to be overthinking. That was something she was relatively good at.

"Hey!" Blinking, she looked to her right to see Rowan. His bright blue eyes were looking at her with a sheen of worry. "You alright? You look lost."

For a minute she was. Right now her mouth was halfway gaping and her eyes were hazy and halfway open. "I'm fine," she answered quietly, squeezing her eyes shut for a minute before opening them. Not wanting to look too perturbed, she started looking at her nails that she noticed had been growing longer as of late. Aza had a habit of biting them whenever she was bored or extremely nervous, but she hadn't felt either since she had been here. The Night's Watch was ruining her rather unhealthy habit. There was some good coming out of this, shockingly.

"You don't seem like it… " Rowan pursued, like he felt that she needed to be coaxed to spill her unwanted feelings. "You can talk to me."

"Don't get all sappy on me now." Shoving him with her shoulder, she saw him smile like he was rather relieved. It was hard to be vulnerable when she made herself seem so indestructible. All her big talk was bulked up lies and they hadn't known it because they were boys. They were always so stupid and unable to catch onto things sitting right in front of them. They say women are complicated, but that's because boys are too simple-minded. "I'm fine, alright? Just… _peachy_."

"If you say so." When Rowan looked up to see Samwell and Jon, he slid on down to where Pypar and Grenn were. She had no idea what the three of them talked about when they were together. Rowan was smarter and a little bit more mature than Pypar and Grenn were put together. So what could the three of them possibly discuss? How was there even a friendship among the three of them? Now she was thinking of things that didn't matter because her nerves were rattling by Jon and Sam's approach.

Samwell had took Rowan's former seat and Jon sat on her left. She was sandwiched in-between the two people that had been in her thoughts for nearly half the morning. It was uncomfortable, at least to her. She was just battling unnecessary envy and anger at the both of them for a good minute.

Tarly gave her his usual smile, it was just a bit shakier than usual though. It didn't seem unusual for him to be nervous since this would be the day they would be made a steward, builder or ranger and say their vows afterwards. Before she could bother to speak, Lord Commander Mormont had stole all their attention and she was made to keep her mouth shut. "You came to us as outlaws, poachers, rapers, killers, thieves. You came along in chains without friends nor honor. You came to us rich and you came to us poor. Some of you bear the names of proud houses, others only bastard names or no names at all. It does not matter. All that is in the past. Here, on the Wall, we are one House. Tonight…"

"You're allowed to look happy," Sam whispered to Jon. "You're going to be a ranger. Isn't that what you always wanted?" Then, suddenly, Sam's eyes looked at her almost pleadingly. He wanted backup, but she wasn't in the right mindset to help. She was too busy fuming, finding herself even more jealous for no good reason.

"I want to find my Uncle." Jon's voice always hit another low when he was brooding, she noticed. His face, his voice, the slack of his shoulders were revealing the weight of Benjen's Stark mysterious disappearance on his mind. "I know he's alive out there. I know he is."

"I wish I could help you, but I'm no ranger." Sam was still staring at her, twitching his head in Jon's direction as she looked at him like he was crazy when she herself was feeling just that. "It's the steward's life for me. There's honor in being a steward. Not much, really. But there's food." Aza felt like he was going to burn holes in her face if he stared any longer. She was halfway ready to tell him to stop looking at her, but then she would be wrong. "Aza, you're definitely going to be a ranger. You and Jon will be rangers, leaving me behind."

Grinding her teeth, she tried to pull herself in. Pull all the negativity in before it seeped out of her pores. Pull all of it in before she blabbed it all out in her fit. She was never good at that, restraining herself, but she was damn well trying her best. "What makes you so sure I'll be a ranger?"

"You're confident, strong, and they would be mad to think you can't fight any Wildlings." Her eyes had lost their hardened mien and became much softer. How could she be in a blind, jealous rage at him when he spoke to her like that? Now her shoulders began to curve with something like guilt. The Night's Watch was going to end up breaking her with all these wave of emotions before she even said her vows.

"Here you begin anew. A man of the Night's Watch lives his life for the realm." A man? For the realm? She could laugh at that. She was no man and the realm was vicious and unkind because people only cared about themselves and their own. Once in awhile you'd find a good stranger, but it was rare. Rarer than people imagined. "Not for a king or a lord or the honor of this House or that House. Not for gold nor glory nor a woman's love, but for the realm! And all the people in it."

Gold and glory. They wanted her to forsake all the things that she wanted and rightfully so. She could hear the old Maester in her head, repeating loudly about letting the past go. She could also hear the Lord Commander telling her that she was part of the future of the Night's Watch too. Pulling and pulling. They were truly pulling her from all that she wanted and all who that she thought she wanted to be. It was frustrating, but also soothing. Almost like they took some sort of weight off her or removed the obstacles before her in her path of purpose. She was given a new purpose now without even asking for it.

"You've all learned the words of the vow, think carefully before you say them. The penalty for desertion is death." He made that point loud and clear, making sure all of them had heard that. Death. She suppose Robb Stark would be the one to give her death since the Warden of the North was South these days. Part of her thought it humorous if that were how she would ever meet Jon Snow's older, half-brother. She would say some stupid words before he chopped her head clean off for being a deserter. She liked to think herself funny, but death wasn't funny.

"You can take your vows here tonight at sunset." Mormont had then looked them all over, looking rather inquisitive. "Do any of you still keep the Old Gods?"

Jon Snow had stood to his feet, not surprising her all that much. "I do, My Lord."

"You'll want to take your vow before a heart tree as your Uncle did," stated Mormont.

She could see the mere mention of Benjen brought a tinge of pain on Jon's his face. She only lowered her head, thinking that the wiser thing to do. She still hadn't figured out if there were any words of comfort she could give. It might've been wise to stop trying since nothing could come to mind.

"Yes, My Lord."

With an understanding nod, the Lord Commander spoke; "You'll find a weirwood a mile north of the Wall. And your Old Gods too, maybe."

"My Lord, might I go as well?" pleaded Samwell, already on his feet, shocking her.

"Does House Tarly keep the Old Gods?" The Lord Commander practically took the question straight from her head. She swore she heard Samwell speak of the Faith during short time she had known him.

Samwell shook his head, looking rather nervous but also sure of himself. "No, My Lord. I was named in the light of the Seven as my father was and his father before him."

Ser Alliser took a step forward, brow raised. "Why would you forsake the gods of your father and your House?"

"The Night's Watch is my House now." Her eyes slightly widened at his words and how confidently he spoke them. He sounded more confident than she ever heard him be since she met him. "The Seven have never answered my prayers. Perhaps the Old Gods will."

"As you wish, lad." Having no reason to argue against his wishes, Mormont consented as he then began to read what they all had been waiting for. Aza didn't feel nervous, she rather didn't care where she would be placed nowadays. Before, she would've wished to be a steward since she didn't think the Wildlings to be her enemies, but now? Being a ranger didn't seem so bad. To be a builder? Well, that was less exciting. She also didn't think herself good at building anything. She was far too heavy handed and too skilled for combat to waste her life building.

"You've all been assigned an order, acrossing to our needs and your strength: Halder to the builders. Pyp to the stewards. Toad to the builders. Grenn to the rangers. Samwell to the stewards. Matthar to the rangers. Dareon to the stewards. Rowan to the rangers. Balian to the rangers. Rast to the rangers. Aza to the rangers. Jon to the stewards—"

All three of them froze.

With their mouths and eyes wide in shock, both Samwell and Aza nearly snapped their necks to turn to look at Jon. He was still sitting there in disbelief, but most of all, he was angry. A blizzard was brewing within Jon Snow and Aza swore the temperature went ten degrees lower.

"May all the gods preserve you." And that was all. There was no pardon that he made a mistake. Lord Commander Mormont looked as if he said what he had to say and he was done with it. There was no more to be spoken. He just left, going to the Commander's Keep as if nothing was wrong.

"Rangers with me." Jaremy Rykker said and he looked straight at her, possibly knowing her hesitation right away.

Aza couldn't help but feel rather stuck to her seat before she felt a nudge on her rib from her left. It was Jon, solemn in expression, as he gave her a nod. "You're a ranger now, so go." For some reason, she felt hurt by his words. Not for herself, but for _him_. He was trying his best to be kind to her when he knew very well how unfair this all was.

" _You_ should be with me." She shifted awkwardly in her seat, shaking her head in confusion. It still hadn't made much sense. " _You_ should be a ranger and _I_ a steward."

"What's done is done, Aza." He tried to smile. He really tried, but it didn't come out as he probably hoped it would. So she smiled for him and hers didn't come out as she hoped it would either. "You'll be a good ranger, I know you will."

Giving a slow and reluctant nod, she stood on her feet and looked over to Rowan, who was waving for her to come over. With a deep sigh to breathe out her shot nerves, Aza made her way to Jaremy Rykker, her designated leader. He was watching her, scowling at the fact that she was the last to join the group. Rowan nudged her side, giving her a smile as if that was to make things better.

"Do you know the means of being a ranger?" he asked them, his eyes of golden brown observing each and every one of them. Aza looked around, seeing if anyone was going to answer because she surely didn't know it. "Yearling," She cursed under her breath, annoyed she had been singled out. "What do you think it takes to be a ranger?"

Scratching the side of her head, her face scrunched up in irritation. "Uh," she mumbled, "being able to knock down some Wildlings, yeah?"

A few others mumbled, nodding their heads. It was a shame that they were just as lost as she was. "Knock down some Wildlings…" he repeated, his patience obviously wearing thin. "You think that's all it means to be a ranger?"

"That's the gist of it." She shrugged, not seeing what was so wrong about what she said. It was all Ser Alliser would threaten them with. If it weren't the Wildlings that killed them then it was the cold.

Jaremy shook his head, sighing as he prepared to inform them the "true" essence of a ranger. "A ranger must be cunning, a ranger must have stealth, a ranger must be a swift tracker, and a ranger must know when to be a shield of men."

"What does that mean, Ser Jaremy? To be a shield of men?" One of the newly-assigned rangers asked.

Aza met Jaremy's eyes as he looked them all over once again. A very stern look coming into fruition as he spoke; "It means if the time ever calls for you to make a sacrifice to complete a task, you do it. If you have to die for the task then you have to die. You lay your life for the Watch. That's what you swore to your gods and that's what you swore to your brothers. You _must_ fulfill it or else you'll be an oathbreaker; a traitor to the Night's Watch."

 **JON**

His head was all over the place, Sam's words still echoing in his head. Was being made a steward for the Lord Commander actually something more than he thought or was he truly being shafted because he was the bastard son of a highborn lord? If he thought anymore about it, he was bound for a headache. The whole day just felt like some sort of wild dream that he wished he could wake up from. All he wanted was his uncle back and being made a ranger like he always wanted to be. Whenever he decided to throw himself full force to what he wanted, it just had a way of pushing him completely off course.

He had just returned from the godswood north of the Wall, already having passed the portcullis that would lead one back inside of the confines of Castle Black. Samwell was with him, talking about something Jon had stopped paying attention to since he was still trying to understand everything. It was probably about the hand that Ghost found back there. Jon didn't want think anymore about it and he hoped that it wasn't his uncle's. In the distance, he could hear Othell Yarwyck constructing the builders on what they would be repairing first, but when he heard Jaremy Rykker, he raised his head. His eyes found no interest at the snow beneath his feet. He lifted his eyes to look at the rangers with a cross of envy and anger. He still believed that Ser Alliser was behind his placement and he refused to think otherwise.

Among the group of rangers was Aza with his arms folded and an actual expression of what looked to be concentration. It was unusual. It was unusual to see him, Aza, actually focused on something outside of sparring. He looked as if he paid attention to every word, syllable, and sound that Jaremy was speaking to them. That's what happens when you're a ranger, he enviously thought. You actually begin to like it instead of having to be a servant for the Lord Commander. As if he felt he was being stared at, Aza slowly turned his head and their eyes met.

It felt unnatural, sometimes, when they looked at one another. Jon couldn't explain the sudden fumbling of nerves or why he would suddenly feel shy. Not the kind of shy he was around people he wasn't comfortable around, but the kind of shy that he was around girls. Aza was no girl. Aza was a boy, a boy with a mouth full of yeahs and curses to be said. He was rather pretty for a boy, which could be said about him or so everyone else says. Jon never saw this "prettiness" that they saw in him, but he could see it in Aza.

Aza had soft features. There was no square jaw that most women woo'd over. Not the kind of strong and masculine jawline that his brother Robb had. Aza's face had a feminine smoothness and certain delicateness with the powerful shape of his eyes. Even his eyelashes were long, but not as long or as black as Jon's own. If Aza had let his hair grow, he probably would've looked more like a girl than the boyish charm that he possessed.

This was strange.

What was strange was him looking for something girly in Aza. It must've been the fact that he hadn't seen a girl in months now. Is that what happens in the Watch? You imagine someone else as a girl after praying just to catch the smell of one? He hadn't seen many anyway save for his sisters, Lady Stark, and Jeyne Poole. He could barely remember Alys Karstark, who he had been made to dance with when he was seven. It didn't matter. None of that mattered. He'd wish the thoughts would go somewhere never to be thought again. It didn't help, his wish, because the thoughts were so hard to shake away.

"Training starts at dawn." Jaremy Rykker had pulled him out of his head, relieving him with sudden distraction. By the time he was able to look around with a clearer head, Samwell had already waved Aza to come over.

Jon stood idly, watching as Aza nodded before signaling for them to wait just to turn to Rowan and Grenn for brief conversation. "They're probably talking about ranger things…" He heard Sam say and Jon's mood took another dip for the worse. It should've been _him_ over there, standing with them, talking about _"ranger things"_ as Sam called it.

"Probably." Grinding his teeth, his mind kept showing him a flash of that smug look that Ser Alliser gave him when the Lord Commander read the names. Jon was going to burn that image inside his head so that he would never forget it. He was going to make Thorne see that he had been wrong about him from the very beginning. Jon Snow never felt like he had to prove himself to anyone before. At least, not until now.

With a wave, Aza bid Rowan and Grenn goodbye before walking towards him and Sam. "Said your vows, yeah? I said mine in the sept before the Faith." Not once did he take Aza to be a pious person, especially believing in something like the Seven most of all. Aza looked like the type to not believe in gods or at least, that's what Jon assumed. "I don't know why though… It's been a long time since I last prayed."

"What made you stop praying?" Jon found himself asking, his curiosity getting the better of him. It was a personal question and he wasn't sure why he felt there were no borders between him and Aza. There were several and he was aware of each and every one of them and yet he spoke like none of them were there. In some ways, he thought if he didn't speak of their existence then they would cease to exist.

Aza's expression changed, just a little. The usual smirk he would wear had dampened some and his mouth curved downward rather sadly. "Because they never given me what I asked for." His voice took on a much quieter and softer tone. "But that's how we are, yeah? Us men… We ask the gods for so many things and we expect them to do it, but what do we do for the gods besides ask, yeah? It's probably best we live our own lives separately; us and the gods. That way we have nobody but ourselves to blame when things don't go how we want 'em to."

Jon considered Aza's words, wondering if there was some truth in that. He had asked the old gods for plenty of things: to see his mother, to be made legitimate, for Lady Stark to like him, to be just as good as ( or even better than ) Robb, and to be married and have a holdfast just for him. Just to be a proud son of Lord Eddard Stark and not his shame; a stain on the man's honor. They didn't give him anything and yet he still believed. All of his wishes seemed so selfish though and that's why he thought they never came true. It didn't take away his faith, it only lessened some of it.

"What did you ask for?" The personal questions just kept pouring and he forgot that Samwell was right there with them. Aza looked up at him, seemingly angry and also taken aback by his question. It fit him in this moment. To be angry. Aza never liked talking too much about himself, which kept the airs of mystery when it came to his past that wasn't about his sellsword days.

"My mother." The answer pierced him. No, it wasn't the answer itself. It was the way Aza said it with a slight smile and faraway look in his eyes. Aza seemed so fearless, so impenetrable, but his wounded heart was laid bare right in front of them for a moment's time. "I prayed for my mother to be returned to me and the gods never gave her back." Jon stood there, quiet and apologetic, and before he could announce a sorry, Aza raised his hand. "Don't!" Aza knew exactly what he was going to say. "I don't want nor need your pity. C'mon, Porkchop and Lord Snow, let's go get some grub, yeah? Hobb's cookin' us somethin' special for swearing our vows."

 **AZA**

"Hopeless!" Jaremy sighed, massaging his temples. "Completely hopeless."

Aza couldn't blame him. Half of the people in this group were Ser Alliser's leftovers who hadn't even passed what he deemed the par of an average fighter. Nobody could actually obtain Thorne's approval, so what standard did Rykker hold them to? She certainly didn't know, but she could tell they weren't meeting the exact criteria. "Half of you should be herding, not fighting; all of you stink of Summer, much too green to see the Winter ahead." If she hadn't heard that last bit, she would've certainly taken offense. "Rowan, I want you to take over training. Aza, to me."

Rowan nodded sharply before taking a glance to her to which she shrugged her shoulders to. She wasn't sure what Jaremy wanted or why she had to follow him yet she didn't protest. Aza followed after him, taking slow steps so she wasn't stepping on his heels and keeping the pace. "Halfhand is going to go north to search for First Ranger Benjen, I want to know if you wish to go with him."

Was this a test? If she said no then would he insist she go and if she said yes, would he call her fool that was too eager to die? She didn't understand these men and she didn't understand their rules. All these vows and the talks about self-sacrificing for one another was really starting to mess with her head. In the clearer parts of her mind, she did want to go. For what reason? For Jon Snow. He was worried about his uncle and refused to believe him dead. If she were to go, would she able to find him? She thought herself strong and capable enough.

"…They'll be going to the Haunted Forest, yeah?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but just wanted to be reassured. Rykker nodded quite solemnly, his face looking as if it were made of stone. "Nobody came back, not even the First Ranger… Am I stupid to think I'm luckier than they are?"

"Too confident for your own good if you ask me." His reply made her chuckle, knowing he was very much right. She must've sounded so childish, so arrogant, to him just then. How could she possibly survive the Haunted Forest when she never touched the North, beyond the Wall, or even dealt with snow most of all? She was much too arrogant. "I'm giving you the choice."

"Why me?" asked Aza. "Why are you giving me a choice?"

Jaremy studied her for a few minutes, slowly folding his arms in these cold minutes of silence. It almost made her afraid of what he was going to say. "There's only a few of you that are actually worthy of being of rangers and you're one of them," he bothered to explain. "If I am to lose you, I'm giving you the choice."

Aza slowly looked over to Rowan, who was taking over practice, and then back at Rykker. Was this how she wanted to die? Did she want to die searching for First Ranger Benjen? Did she want to die searching for the source of the full swing of Jon Snow's latest moodiness? What was she to accomplish for it? She couldn't even understand why it mattered to her that Jon missed him. She would gain nothing from this except a happier Jon Snow. Happy? Jon Snow and happy? That sounded delusional. Instead of thinking herself arrogant, maybe she finally lost the last bit of sense she actually had.

"When will they be leaving?" Aza questioned, unsure of her answer still.

"In a week," he told her swiftly, giving her less time to hesitate and formulate an answer.

"Can I…" Her eyes lifted up to look at him. She hesitated for a minute before asking; "Can I think about it?"

She could tell she was asking for a lot by his sudden frown. She was already giving the luxury to be given the choice and now she wanted to sit on the question? She halfway expected a no, but Rykker didn't give her that. "You have three days."

"Three days." She took note, reminding herself that. Not four, not five, but three days. She had three days to choose if First Ranger Benjen and Jon Snow was worth her possibly dying out there.

Combing her fingers through to her cropped hair, she gave it a tug as she contemplated her decision. Jaremy had already left her side, remaining silent as if to give her time for a moment. She couldn't linger here, he'll eventually call her back to practice. He was kind enough to let her think and she had been grateful of that.

"…I must be a moron," Aza spoke to herself. "What in Seven Hells am I thinking? Me? Going to the Haunted Forest?" Scoffing, her hand dropped to her side as she tilted her head back, her eyes gazing up at the open and grey sky. It would start snowing soon, she was able to tell now after living here for all these months. Summer girls weren't supposed to know when snow would fall. Summer girls were supposed to bask and know the sun. Summer girls were supposed to know warmth and not this cold, but she was no ordinary Summer girl. She was a Summer boy and Summer boys knew harsh weather and even harsher battles. Summer boys knew life and death was a thin line that one must tread on in order to survive in this world made by the cruel gods.

Before her head turned into mush, Aza jogged away from the area she had been left in and made her way back to practice.

* * *

"To me, Aza."

The looks were becoming more frequent. In fact, they've gotten worse after yesterday when she spoke to Rykker alone about Halfhand's mission. People were noticing this sudden attention he kept giving her and Aza hated it. She hated being singled out and she didn't want the rest of them thinking that she had special treatment. He worked her just like everyone else. He scolded her more often than not just like everyone else. He fixed her stance and whipped a sheath to her back in order to straighten it just like he did everyone else. He was only being mindful of the time she had to make this decision.

"I've been told to come look at some corpses," he informed her and she found her bones going rigid. Her eyes looked up at him, trying to search if Benjen Stark was one of them. As if he knew her question, he shook his head. "Stark wasn't with them." That didn't make her feel better. That had only served to make her feel worse. "I want you with me while I inspect them, you'll be a Mount Watcher if you decline Halfhand's search. I'm not letting you waste away at practice when you're already capable." A Mount Watcher? They were the ones who rode ahorse and swept the woods, giving reports of what they found and saw.

Aza hadn't thought she'd be given that duty, mainly because she didn't want it. She was hesitant about going North of the Wall. It was wild and cold, and for her to be alone? It didn't sound promising. At least with Halfhand she would be with a group of rangers that knew the areas and not let herself be lost. "Rowan, you know what to do," Rykker announced to which she saw Rowan spring alive for a minute there. He must've loved instructing because he seemed so deadpanned through the first half of lessons.

Rykker took them to the stables, telling her to grab a horse. She was going to see firsthand what a Mount Watcher was supposed to do and it left her feeling nervous. To calm herself, Aza decided to think about other things. The first thing she could think about was the weather at the moment. It was a bit warmer than usual and she had been loving this different change of weather. The only thing uncomfortable about it was all this black and her long sleeves, but her main discomfort was the heavy cloak. She wanted to rip it all off, show her arms, and let the warmth sink into her like it rightfully should. It was like a taste of warm Summer; the last taste, the only taste she'll ever get because the seasons were changing. Sometimes Aza was scared that any day now, the white raven would come from the Citadel to inform them that Autumn had come.

As they made their way under the portcullis and a few gallops ahead, she got her first sight of the large forest ahead. They weren't going too close to it, though. She was being led to the stack of bodies atop of some wood on the ground. It hadn't unnerved her, being a former mercenary and all, but it did Samwell. He looked like he was about to balk and maybe even cry. Meanwhile Jon Snow, who she didn't think would be here, was looking at the dead bodies as if they were a normal occurrence. How does a pretty boy who remained most of his life in a high castle not feel sick in his tum over the sight of death in a pile? Just what did Jon Snow see in his lifetime to make him so immune to all of this? Every day it seemed, she was finding out he really was no ordinary lord's son.

They climbed off their horses and Aza followed Jaremy Rykker, always a few steps behind him. It would remind her how she used to follow her leader, her mentor, Hadrian Rivia when she newly joined the Red Irons. The man once said he enjoyed that she never overstepped her boundaries. That she knew her place. She was of no authority to walk alongside him and she wasn't too lesser to be several paces back. Jaremy Rykker didn't sing praises about that or seemed to care. She didn't know how he felt about anything, really.

Jaremy stood close to the bodies and the look on his face instructed she should be right at his side than behind him like the rest of them were. Jon Snow's eyes soon looked at her, but she paid him no mind. If Jaremy thought her to be distracted then he would scold her. She didn't feel like being the source of entertainment for today. "Their names?" Lord Commander Mormont spoke, breaking the eerie silence.

"That one," Jaremy inclined his head, "is Othor beyond a doubt and this one was Jafer Flowers." Insensitive to the dead, the ranger instructor used his foot to turn the corpse over, and the ashen face of a dead man was before them. Aza could yell at him for that. The Summer Islanders treated the dead with much more respect. She knew better, though. She knew what would be said to her: _"This isn't the Summer Isles, this is the North, and what's dead is dead."_

Aza swallowed her short-lived spite in efforts to speak; "They were the First Ranger's men, yeah?"

"Indeed," Rykker answered her as her eyes slowly took a quick glance at Jon Snow. His brows had bowed and his lips made a frown. These were his uncle's men and they were dead, but there was no sight of his uncle or even a sign that he was still alive.

"Gods have mercy…" She heard Mormont say as he climbed off his horse, handing the reins to his steward; Jon Snow. Aza focused her sights on the Commander's horse due to the fact it was acting finicky, like it didn't want to be anywhere near these dead rangers. Jon saw the strange behavior and took the mare a few paces away, trying to keep her from high tailing it on out of here. All the horses seemed anxious, Aza started to notice. Her eyes glanced at her own as he kept huffing his displeasure. Just what was it about this place that had them like this? It was making her feel wary. Then it was the dogs. The dogs wouldn't go near the dead either. They wouldn't take a whiff of the scent when Bass, the kennelmaster, led them to.

Aza knew, from experience, that when animals behaved like this that something was wrong. Something evil was afoot most likely. If she spoke her suspicions then they would say she reading too much into this. They would say that her superstitions were childish and false. Aza knew well enough that remaining quiet was the best option, but she hated being subservient. "Ser Jaremy, I don't trust this," she said, her eyes looking pleadingly at him. "The animals can sense something is awry. We shouldn't stay here. We need to burn their bodies and leave."

"I-I…" All of them turned to Samwell, what he said next, she couldn't very well hear it. He whispered it and only Jon heard him. She turned away, knowing Jon Snow was more than capable of giving Samwell a boost of courage. It may not last, but it was something at least.

"I don't like it either." She finally received an answer, shocked as she may be that Jaremy actually agreed with her. "But we need to know why they became like this."

He had a point. It wasn't best to leave this unsolved or else this could come back to bite them. "Ben Stark had six men with him when he rode from the Wall…" Lord Mormont took note, his eyes looking at Rykker. "Where are the others?"

"Would tell you if I knew." Rykker shook his head and Aza could tell that Mormont did not like that answer. How was Jaremy to know anyway? He wasn't with them.

"Two of our brothers butchered almost within sight of the Wall yet your rangers heard nothing, _saw_ nothing. Is this what the Night's Watch has fallen to? Do we still sweep these woods?"

Mormont insinuation that they have been doing nothing bothered her. Aza could feel her eyelashes faintly touching her eyebrows, but Rykker's hand on her shoulder held her back. "Have I offended you, Yearling?" The Lord Commander asked her and she wasn't sure if he was angry or amused by her. His voice didn't match the look on his face or perhaps she wasn't reading him all too well.

"You're trying to say we're not doing our duties, Lord Commander," she spoke, defending herself without care. Aza knew she must remain respectful and that's what she did or at least tried to. "We mount watches, we watch the Wall. With the absence of First Ranger Benjen, we have stayed closer to the Wall under _your_ command, My Lord," she had stressed, infuriated that they were being scolded when they were following his own order. "Would you have found these lifeless men had it not been for a ranger, Lord Commander?"

"Then tell me, Yearling," he began, "this man wears a hunting horn." His gloved fingers pointed down at Othor's hip and she had followed where the bodied laid. "Must I suppose that he died without sounding it or have the rangers all gone deaf as well as blind?"

She saw red. She saw a clear shot of red and before she could lay a fist into him, Jon Snow's hand latched onto her other shoulder for a tight squeeze. Aza nearly grimaced, too shocked from the action to really gather herself.

Rykker's face blatantly showed his anger too. "No horn was blown, My Lord, or my rangers would have heard it. I do not have sufficient men to mount as many patrols as I should like… and since Benjen was lost, we have stayed closer to the Wall than we ever have, as was said, by your _own_ command."

Mormont grunted, almost like he was too much at a loss for words. Aza nearly dared to strike him because he didn't even given them an apology. He knew he gave the order and yet he acted as if they did nothing. How could she possibly think to have liked this man when he showed his own incompetence at being their Lord Commander? "Yes… Well. Be that as it may." Gaping at his dismissal, Jon's hand squeezed her shoulder tighter than before.

"Don't. Say. Anything," he whispered into her ear, giving her a clear warning and trying to make Mormont be unable to read his lips.

Her eyes, fury-embedded and sharp, gave Mormont a piercing look before slewing away to look at something, just anything at all. If she looked at him again, she would see red once more.

"Cool off, Aza." She heard Rykker demand and before she could protest, she saw the look in his eyes that meant no back talk or perfectly 'do as I say'. Sucking her teeth, Aza spun on her heels and tried her best not to stomp. She wasn't a child, she didn't throw tantrums, but she was so close to resorting to that. She hadn't even thought to realize that she jerked her shoulder out of Jon's grasp, making him blink and step back in surprise. She didn't bother to notice him at all. She was much too infuriated to.

"Aza…" he called her name and her steps slowed down and then stopped. Whipping her head to look at him from over her shoulder, she listened for what he had to say. "The Lord Commander is just upset—"

"Don't!" she snapped. "Don't you go defending him."

Now he was angry, she could tell. He tilted his head, slowly, shooting her a piercing look out of his grey eyes. "He didn't mean how you took it."

"What?" Scoffing, she marched right up to him. "He didn't mean how I took it?! He tried to say we didn't do shit and we just 'llowed for this to happen! He tried to say that we just let rangers die!"

Aza didn't ask to be a ranger, she didn't ask to be in the Night's Watch either. She didn't ask for any of this, but she was putting her very best into it. She was fulfilling her duty whether she liked it or not and to be insulted or deemed a slacker was like a sprinkle of salt to a open wound. She never did anything half-ass and to be accused of such pissed her off greatly. "He means to say there should've been more men out here to mount watches then—"

"What do _you_ know?" Aza huffed, trying to quell the fire that was burning in her sudden rage. "What do you know of what we rangers do? Rowan fulfills practice when Rykker has to leave, Grenn and Daeron have been by the gates to listen for the horn, and I follow Rykker and I watch him give orders. I was there when he received a note from the Lord Commander to keep the men close to the Wall. You're his steward, yeah? Were you paying attention when he wrote the letter or were you too busy pouring him a fucking horn of ale to care?"

Jon Snow started to close this gap between them. So what if he was taller? He did not intimidate her. She fisted his boiled leather jerkin, showing that he put no fear in her heart if that's what he expected. She was just too angry to believe any of the things leaving his mouth. All they were, were excuses and not even good ones.

He tugged, not violently enough to rip her fingers out of his leather, but just hard enough to make his displeasure known. "You want throw it in my face? That you're a ranger now?" he said. "I'm well aware of that and I never said he was right. I'm only saying that you're taking this too personal. None of this is personal."

"I'm taking this personal?" she repeated. "You're damn right I'm taking this personal. He fucking called us liars. He called us slackers, he was sayin' we weren't doing anything and we let Othor and Jafer and the others die! The way he spoke to me… you heard him!"

"He feels guilty, Aza!" Hardly did Jon Snow raise his voice and when he did, it put a little shock in her. "He feels guilty because all of this is happening under his watch. We don't know what's happening and my uncle is still missing. How do you think he feels as a commander with all of this happening?"

"That's not my fucking problem!" Letting him go, she let her arms return to her sides all for her hands to ball up into tight fists. "I'm doing my duty, he needs to be doing his. If he feels incompetent then that's his own damn fault."

"It doesn't matter if it's his fault or not." He lowered his voice, either because he was tired of yelling or because he didn't want Mormont or Rykker involved. "I thought you would have more wisdom to know that, Aza."

Aza bristled, trying her best not to let her fist kiss his face. How dare he? Was serving Mormont literally warping his mind? "You know what?" She turned to him, setting her jaw. "Fuck you! Fuck all of this! I don't even care anymore."

Marching over to Rykker, she could feel vicious impulses rise to the forefront of her mind. She learned a little how to control herself. She was doing better than she would have months ago. "May I return back to Castle Black?" Despite how eloquent her words were, her voice didn't match. The scathing heat of her anger was within every word she spoke.

Jaremy looked to her and then over her shoulder before returning his eyes back on her. "Go, you'll watch the Wall tonight."

"Aye." Nodding, she practically stomped her way to her horse, the sound of the snow crunching beneath her feet was loud with each force of her steps. Samwell had came walking over to her horse as she was fixing the saddle. She really didn't want to hear his songs of peace or more like trying to clean up Jon's words and intentions. "I don't want to hear it, Sam."

"I know you're angry, b-but…" How many excuses was he going to make for Jon Snow? None. In fact, Samwell was going to justify and paint her as wrong and unreasonable, she already knew that. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to hear none of it. She just wanted to leave. She wanted to breathe by herself.

"If you know I'm angry then you'll let me be." Climbing atop of her horse, Aza positioned herself correctly before gathering the reins. "I don't even want to hear the idiot's name."

Sam's face had fallen, head lowering. At least he took the hint, she didn't need to scream in his face or curse at him. Aza didn't need to say things to him that she didn't mean because she was so angry.

They let her leave. They let her leave in quiet, but what bothered her the most was the fact that Jon Snow watched. She could feel his eyes glued to her back as she rode back to Castle Black. He watched her until she felt his eyes couldn't hold the sight of her anymore.

* * *

A/N: Conflict! To be honest, I feel like Mormont got away with a lot of bad decisions and he doesn't even remember everyone's name. Like c'mon, you're the Lord Commander! I still love the Old Bear though. The next chapter, both of them will be North of the Wall, but Jon and Aza are NOT on good terms at the moment.

lilnightmare17: Thanks! I'm confused myself. I think it is safe to say that she has no real preference because she's never been interested in anyone romantically or even physically. She can, however, acknowledge when someone is attractive/pretty whether they are a boy or girl. She thinks Jon Snow is really pretty compared to everyone else, but so does everyone in the Night's Watch and even the Wildlings. Lol. It's definitely going to happen soon. I don't want to rush the process and I want to build on their relationship as Aza as a boy first, but it is definitely happening soon.

Natalie: Spunky is the perfect way to describe her. I just think she's crude and harsh and just has trouble expressing anything that's not her anger. Lol.

Kiki8o: Well, her first fault is that she doesn't know the North. The North is so easy to get lost in for strangers and everyone talks about how wild, large, merciless and cold it is. It's like taking someone from California and taking them to somewhere like a very wild and wooded part of Maine ( sorry I had to use US states to better describe it ) without no phone or map or even any indication how to survive. Then you'll have people who know the lands better than you chasing you as well. Second, Aza doesn't know _how_ to be a girl without it being a stereotype and biased observations. She's been pretending, practically assimilating herself to a male role for so long that I doubt she'll never not blow her cover. Not just that, I don't know where she'll be able to find a wig or dye or clothes or money because the Night's Watch would recognize her face and her short hair. I think there's so many ways that it can go wrong for her. Her being a girl will play a MAJOR role for some later stuff, but I've tried to think of every possible way if escaping was possible or not.

Minstorai: Thank you! That's so comforting to know. I wish I wrote a scene for when Hobb cooks them that really, really nice meal when they swear their vows, but I think I like the common hall too much. It just reminds me of a bunch of high school kids in the cafeteria. Lol. Thank you! Sometimes I'm scared of writing his POV because you can tell Jon is halfway a boy becoming into a man. So sometimes I'm not sure where his maturity levels will be at certain situations, so I'm really guessing.


	6. Chapter 5: North of the Wall Pt1

**AZA**

The way the snow had alighted her face was much softer than the kisses her mother used to plant, and were just as cold as the memories had turned. The last time she was here, she wasn't able to appreciate the beauty of this farther North because all her attention had been on variety of things. In this swirl of white, a piece of the world she hadn't explored, was like a blank page. The wind was howling, louder than she ever heard Ghost howl on certain nights. As the snow kept piling up in drifts, she never realized that snow could make this world of white actually be… beautiful.

 _"Have you made your decision?"_

 _"I'm afraid not, Ser Jaremy."_

 _"I've warned you, Aza. I told you three days."_

 _"How do you tell someone they have three days to decide if they'll live or die? They'll be leaving at first light on the first day, yeah? If I show up, I've decided to go. If I don't, well, I've wasted your time."_

Rykker laughed at her and trust her when she says Rykker's laugh sounds like the snobby laughs of a highlord. It was irritating, but familiar. She hadn't taken true offense because just as quickly as he laughed, he scolded her for being indecisive. The Night's Watch can't be indecisive, he said, which she understood well enough. Everything was about life or death here. It was truly an honor to live long because most rangers didn't get that luxury. He did, however, commend her for not lying and even for hesitating. Strange as it was, he said he respected that she valued her life enough to weigh what she was willing to die for.

His words made her feel shameful. Aza was only stalling her answer out of pure spite. It was like a quick jab to Jon Snow despite him not knowing anything of it. He didn't know she was asked to search for his uncle and he didn't know she had been pondering the answer, even going as far as being on the verge of saying yes. Her stalling was stupid, insanely petty, but Aza never considered herself a good and righteous person. She made her decisions based on what she wanted and just like any other person, her wants always changes.

Truthfully, she hadn't spoken to Jon in days, but she knew he searched for her. Sometimes he would come to her cell, be right before her door, and then leave after awkwardly standing there for a what she would count for ten whole minutes. Whether he was much too proud to apologize or because he didn't know how to speak to her without sounding like an idiot were the questions she'll never get an answer to. Out of the two, Aza suspected it was because he was an idiot. Not because he was a boy, not because he was wrong, but because an apology was all she really wanted him to say. All he had to do was say he was sorry and she'd open that door and pretend their argument never happened. Aza was easy in that regard, she was easy when it came to him, sad as it was. _Stupid as it was._

She missed going to the common hall now that she had been avoiding it like the plague. Rowan would bring her food upon request during the few times they could see each other. That meant some days she was without food, she hadn't minded that anyway since she didn't always enjoy what Hobb cooked. It just meant days of solitude more than anything. It was coming back to bite her though; this whole ignoring Jon Snow business. It was lonely to eat alone in her cell, especially when she missed being around her boys. She missed Sam telling her some useless facts, she missed Pypar and Grenn playing around, and she missed Jon's short-lived smiles and conversations. She couldn't face him now. She just couldn't face him until he knew _why_ she was angry.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head as if every thought that came across her mind could be easily shaken away. When her mind felt clearer or at least clear as it could get, she reopened them and saw the forest ahead. Her mind thought back to Othor, Jafer, and the rest of the rangers who were found dead in a pile. Grenn had told her some story that Othor wasn't really dead and came back. The man came back and tried to kill the Lord Commander and Jon Snow had saved his life.

Aza had half a mind to believe him. The way the animals acted that day alerted her that something was wrong. Animals in the Summer Islands were said to always know when something darker and inhuman was around. Of course, these were all stories and tales said to children in efforts to frighten them and make them obey their all-knowing parents. When you were grown, you didn't believe them anymore and you rebelled, but what if they were true? If the dead did rise again then what did that mean? What did that mean for Benjen Stark who was still unfound? Would the next time they ever see him, would he come back not at all the same person who left?

The sudden whinny of her horse startled her, her eyes looked down as he shook his head and let his beautiful mane shake with his movements. "You must be hungry, yeah?" With a soft stroke of her hand against its long neck, she looked back at the Wall from over her shoulder. "Last time I stole you an apple from the kitchens, Hobb nearly had my head and hand for it. What should I steal you this time, hm?" The grass was too frozen for it to dig through the snow and try to find some to eat this far North. The horses would get restless and hungry out here and she couldn't blame them because she would feel the same. Funny, isn't it? How she keeps getting compared and even found herself relating to a horse?

She rather liked this one though. She named him Faust. He wasn't large or even above medium in size, but he was alert and had slender limbs that were muscled. He was grey too, just a real beauty with his coat as glossy as silk. Aza would've left him naked as he should be, but she was sure the Westerosi couldn't handle seeing a person riding without a bridle and saddle.

"Our patrol will end soon," Aza told him, hoping that in some kind of way that he understood her. Animals weren't her specialty, if anything, she'd rather enjoyed cats. They were much easier to befriend; a cat was straightforward and would simply show you whether they liked you or not.

The sudden rustle of bushes in the forest nearby had made her still. _'Idiot…'_ she thought, _'You should've waited when the wind picked up again, but you made yourself known.'_ Someone was there or it could've been an animal had her paranoia not been on high. Animals didn't know better than that, crafty as some were. They were a bit bolder, even in their fear. Humans, however, always seem to make the simplest of mistakes.

Aza jumped down from her horse, moving her hand behind her shoulder to wrap her fingers around the handle of her sword. She should've turned back, she shouldn't be following the source of the sound, but she was too curious. She made sure to keep her steps light so the impact of her feet and the snow were as an inaudible as she could make it be. Rounding the bush, she took a slight step forward just to find nothing. All she saw were Winter trees that stood bare with their twigs curled in a distorted, almost in a painful way. The sky here, in this forest, was nearly invisible, barely letting in light and if it did, it was by a shaft. There were no signs of life whatsoever in the vicinity she was in.

Her brown eyes darted left and then right, still finding nothing. Nothing but trees and snow. "I know you're out there." A warning was what she would give them first, assuming it was a Wildling. She didn't want to believe it was another walking corpse roaming around the woods again. She wasn't so optimistic to think it was First Ranger Benjen either. It had to be a Wildling.

 _"If you see more than one Wildling then you leave."_ Rykker's voice came to mind. _"We don't have enough to send you out in pairs. If we have to lose some, we'd rather lose one, and I'd rather not hear that you died taking on more than what you can."_

A blur ran past and Aza gave chase.

She dashed through, leaping over thick branches that had fallen due to the weight of the snow or maybe by a gale. Aza dodged and zipped past rotting trees, even going under branches that were far too large to leap over. Everything blurred into a dizzying blend of grey and brown and the only sounds she could hear were her feet against the snow.

"I'm not going to harm you!" she warned them again, knowing very well that it was within her right as Night's Watchmen to kill a Wildling on sight. Aza was a bit relaxed on that rule, considering she never saw the Wildlings as her enemy anyway. They never did anything to her, but if one felt bold enough to attack her then she would end such a neutral stance.

When she was close enough to grasp their hair, she tackled them down to the ground, rolling with them across the snow. She managed to make sure she remained atop of them, her legs straddling their waist, with her sword already unsheathed and the sharp length of of side at their neck.

It was a girl.

A _Wildling_ girl.

Aza kept her eyes glued on the Wildling girl beneath her, her brows climbing up her forehead. "Why were you watching me?" It was the first question that came to mind.

"You're a Crow," said the Wildling girl, who was glowering at her as she was pinned beneath her, "one lil' Crow too far from its nest. I could've ended you. I could've—"

"Why didn't you?" Aza interrupted without an ounce of hesitation, "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

"It would've been too easy."

The Wildling had guts, she could admit that. It didn't seem too far-fetched anyway since they were called Wildlings in the first place. "I could kill you now, yeah? I could kill you as you were about to kill me." She inched the sword closer to the pale neck of the Wildling, if she pressed it any further, she was bound to draw blood. There was no fear in the Wildling's eyes however. There was nothing but goading and contempt in those grey eyes of hers.

"Do it then!" she shouted, "G'on, kill me! Do it!"

There was always something unsatisfying when dealing with someone who just didn't care about death. It wasn't satisfying either, to Aza at least, to hear someone beg either unless she _really_ wanted to kill them. She didn't really want to kill this Wildling girl anyway, but it would've been wise since this girl had the intention to kill her and was only stopped when her plan fell through.

Without a word, she had drawn her sword back and slipped it into its sheath. With a roll of her eyes, Aza gathered herself to her feet, taking awkward steps back until her feet were closer together and not waddling through the gap that the Wildling's legs had made. She turned herself around to leave in the direction in which she came. She didn't bid the girl a goodbye or gave her a single wave. She was set on leaving, letting her actions speak louder than her words.

"Why did you spare me?" The girl asked, sounding almost infuriated by her mercy, "Why didn't you kill me?"

Aza stopped walking, standing in the middle of the woods with her eyes looking straight back towards the Wall. "Would you rather I cut your head clean off and give it to your kin? Do not ask when someone gives you mercy. If you can't find the reason then they'll start to question if they made the right choice."

Receiving no answer, she decided to keep going forward. Her ears tried to listen for any sounds of the Wildling girl, who she wondered what path she was going take. Would she keep this mercy and live her life or try to attack her? When she heard the girl go in the opposite direction, Aza let out a sigh and kept moving until she found Faust.

 _I should've killed her,_ she thought. _She might become a nuisance in the future. If I would've killed her now, I'd be free of her. Every time I don't kill someone, I regret it._ Looking back at the woods, Aza didn't see anything but tree after tree. Even though she felt like a pair of eyes were on her, she couldn't seem to find what spot they were exactly coming from. She couldn't believe it to be the Wildling girl because something about these pair of eyes made her feel cold, colder than the temperature this far North was already making her feel. A tingle went down her spine and the hairs at the back of her neck began to rise.

Faust was starting to get anxious like the horses when they found that pile of dead rangers. She lingered, sitting ahorse, and looking out to where a possible living corpse was roaming. Her eyes kept searching and searching, but she had saw nothing. Then the thought of that Wildling girl came across her mind. If she would encounter it then she would surely die. What did it matter to her? Aza spared her life and what became of her now was of no concern. She could leave and if that girl was dead, it wasn't her fault, but her conscious made her stay. Her conscious tried to make her listen out for a cry for help or distress. She waited and waited, but there was none.

Grabbing Faust's reins, she turned to make her way to Castle Black. Her shift was nearly over and Daeron was supposed to take over. It was by a split hair before her heels made contact with the horse did she hear a scream. Aza hesitated, her eyes kept looking South as her body tensed. Her heart was beginning to quicken its pace, sounding louder and louder as she remained still.

 _'Leave her!'_ Aza mentally screamed at herself, _'Leave her now! Save yourself!'_ And so she kicked Faust into a strong gallop. The rhythm of the hooves thundering against the snow covered ground couldn't manage to be louder than her own heart. The girl's scream rung in her head again and she ended up turning Faust back towards the woods. _'Moron! You're a fucking moron!'_ Aza berated herself, teeth clenched tight until she hurriedly jumped down from Faust, practically falling to the ground and unable to pick herself back up. When she gathered her footing, she broke out into a sprint, heading right back into the sea of trees and darkness for that stupid, bold girl that should've met her end properly instead of by the hands of gods-know-what.

So far into the woods to the point where every tree looked the same and she was lost, she found that Wildling girl with a spear in her hands. She bared her teeth like Ghost does when he's angry and her eyes are so filled with rage. None of it is directed at her though. All of this was directed towards a large man with his skin the color of death, having no color of life within it. He wore clothes like her, proving that he was once a ranger. One of Benjen Stark's men. Aza drew her sword, hand holding the handle as tightly as she could muster.

As if the monster had felt her presence, it turned its head towards her and shown her its bright blue eyes. In that instant, her heart felt like it completely halted.

"It's a Wight!" shouted the Wildling. "It has to be burned. You can't kill it without burnin' it." Swallowing her shock and her fear, her eyes gazed briefly at the girl, who kept the sharp end of her spear pointed at it.

A Wight. Is this their true name or something the Wildlings named them? Had that really mattered though? It was clambering its way toward her, no longer interested in the Wildling girl it was just pursuing a matter of minutes ago.

"I'll distract it while you start a fire." This was what she gets for playing the hero. She finds herself coming across a dead man that is walking towards her, begging to give her death like the Stranger does with his kiss. She's supposed to blow the horn, but she can't. It makes her feel weak and it puts the Wildling girl in danger. What would be the point in getting her killed when she ran back here to save her? "Make some fire and don't you you go runnin' off on me!"

"If it kills you then it'll go after me next," the girl replied, a sarcastic edge to her voice. Aza snorted at her sudden attitude. "G'on, distract it, I'll make sure the Wight burns before it kills ya, but if you die, I'll burn you too so you don't come back."

The terms were unsettling, but they were all she had. "Fine." Before the Wight could twist and drag itself any closer towards Aza, she raised the sword above her head and brought it downwards, letting the blade easily slice its way through its arm, hacking it straight off the shoulder. It would've been a small victory had she saw some blood at least, but what was unveiled from the wound was old blood that was black and already clotted. What was worse than that was the fact that the limb started crawling its way towards her by its fingers. "Fuck…" she mumbled, bug-eyed as she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The hand was inching closer, its charcoal black fingers desperately trying to clasp her ankle. One step, two steps, she just kept moving back. What was she supposed to do? How was she going to stall it long enough for the girl to set it aflame? Had there been another way to kill it? When Jon Snow supposedly killed a rising Othor, just how did he do it? Aza pointed her sword back at the walking corpse, her arm practically trembling. This is what it was like? This is how it was to feel fear for the enemy? She hadn't feared a man in so long, but this was no ordinary man. No, it wasn't a man at all.

A string of curses unraveled from her tongue as the Wight advanced. Every step it took seemed to rattle her down to the marrow and strike her heart with unease. Eyes as blue as sapphires were staring straight into her brown ones and her blood was starting to curdle as she never broke eye contact. If she was smarter, she would stay afraid. In some ways, she still was, but she growing more angry than fearful. She was angry that this man was turned into a monster, she was angry that she put herself in this predicament, and she was angry because she was at a loss of what to do. If she were to die here and now, she didn't want to die cowardly. She didn't wanted to die only to rise up at a Wight either.

With a muster of sudden courage, Aza raised her sword again, putting herself into a proper stance as she wrapped both hands around the handle to slide the sword through the Wight's heart. It didn't work, the creature still lived, but the Wildling girl had set him on fire and let her have enough time to kick the Wight off her sword and watch it stumble back while in engulfed in flames.

The both of them watched, seeing the Wight shake and panic as the fire grew and burned away at it. It was going to die, for Aza was certain of that. Relieved, she sheathed her sword and turned to the Wildling girl, just to see her grey were glowing due to the reflection of the fire that's heat was warming their skin. There was a curve of happiness on her lips and Aza had reason to believe that this wasn't the first time that this girl encountered a Wight. "What are you standin' around for?" Aza asked, pointing North of the woods, "You should leave."

"I could ask ya the same, Crow," she replied, her eyes looking at her as her questions were written clear across them.

The Wight's arm was still alive and twitching. Aza took off her cloak and wrapped the arm around inside of it. She was going to take it to Castle Black, she had to tell them what she found and what happened here. She had to tell them that there were more Wights roaming around and for the next patrol that sweeps the woods, they would have to be extra cautious. They couldn't lose more men and they couldn't have them rising as one of these either.

Turning back, going South since she went North, she hoped that she would find her way out of this place without getting lost. "You're leavin'?"

"Why would I stay?" Aza asked, feeling the limb wiggle around, desperately trying to claw its way out of her cloak and her grasp.

The Wildling gathered her brows and let out a rather tired sigh, "Thank you for comin' back to save me."

"Mm." Due to the awkwardness, Aza gave her a hesitant nod, and kept walking.

"You're not goin' to thank me?!" the girl said, practically screaming in the one place she shouldn't be screaming in. Did she want to alert another Wight or was she calling her Wildling friends out?

"Thank you." It was said with force, but she meant it.

"The name's G'Winveer." Annoying as the Wildling girl was, she was also rather cute. After all the threats, the yelling, and the mutual saving, she wanted to give Aza her name. "What's yours, Crow?"

"Aza."

G'Winveer said no more, letting her leave in silence. Aza eventually found her way out of the woods and found Faust, who was calmer than when she left him. Putting the cloak that secured the Wight's arm into the knapsack, she got herself right back in the saddle and rode back to Castle Black in a canter, just so she could admire the sky above her head. She hadn't realized that it was nearly turning night. The forest had a way of warping time, making you feel like day was still upon you when the betwixt of sunset and night was actually above you. During the ride back, she tried to make sure she was calm and try to fight and clear memories of those sapphire eyes out of her mind. She even tried to forget watching that Wight burn because it hadn't brought her satisfaction.

All of this was troubling and she felt that this was only half of it. There was a foreboding feeling that was telling her that there was something coming and it wasn't just Winter. Something was coming with the Winter and Aza wasn't sure if she could ever be ready for it.

The portcullis raised as soon as her horse stood before it. Someone atop of the Wall must've caught her riding up or that's what she assumed at least. Her assumptions, however, were wrong because as soon as she re-entered the courtyard, Ser Jaremy and the rest of the rangers were standing with him. Jon Snow, Sam, and Ser Alliser were even here as if they were waiting for her. From the look of Jaremy's eyes, he looked infuriated and relieved. She didn't know if that meant she was in trouble or not.

Climbing down her horse, Sam quickly approached her. "We were afraid you weren't going to come back," he said, eyes big and sad and also happy. He was like a child sometimes. He was always easy to please and even easier to hurt and scare.

"What took you so long?" Jon came walking forward, but she ignored him. "Where's your cloak? How were you North of the Wall without it? You could've froze out there."

That was true, but she didn't even feel cold. All she could feel was the memory of the fire burning the Wight, the heat of it kissing her skin for that short moment she allowed it. Speaking of which, she dug into her knapsack and pulled out her cloak, Jon Snow looked curious, following her a couple of steps behind along with Sam. She unrolled it in front of Ser Alliser and Jaremy, knowing her words will never have the effect like this moving arm will.

And they blanched when they saw it atop of the ground of Castle Black.

Sam took several steps back, Grenn and Pypar gasped. Ser Jaremy's eyes went wide as Ser Alliser remained stony. "Another Wight?" Thorne looked up at her and she gave a nod. "It attacked you or did you go lookin' for it?"

She couldn't tell them about the Wildling girl. She'd be marked a traitor if they found out she saved one. Aza couldn't even lie and say a Wildling died during the fight because where would the proof be? They'd look for the corpse and any sight of blood. So she had to lie.

"It attacked me. The horse got riled when it got close and I fell off it. It chased me and I chased it back in the woods so I didn't lead it back to Castle Black. It's dead. I burned it, but I brought the arm so you'd believe me."

With a nod, Rykker accepted it with no questions asked while Ser Alliser was the one that still remained unsure. He looked at her, trying to spy any sort of hint that betrayed her words. Aza kept her eyes clear, starting straight back at him, and her expression neutral. Aversion of eyes, twitching, and all the other tell tale signs of lying would not be seen by him.

"Are you alright?"

Jon's question completely stung her, having her heart flutter and constrict all at once. Aza hated how easily moved she was that despite their lack of speaking and presence, he still cared about her. Aza didn't bother to look at him or say a single word. Her brown eyes looked to Jaremy, who could read her silence.

"Get some rest, Aza. I'll report this to Commander Mormont and the Maester." With a half smile and a nod, she watched Jaremy wrap the Other's arm back in her cloak, knowing that they were probably going to burn it and she would have to receive a new one. She grabbed Faust's reins to return him to the stables, keeping her herself quiet and her head held high. She was tired and she was sad. As much as she wanted to turn around and tell Jon Snow, she fought a Wight too, she had to settle for the quietness of her cell.

 **JON**

His body felt heavy. His bones felt like they were going to slide out of his skin and fall to the snow beneath his feet. What's holding him together? His shame or was it the pain still flaring and twisting his heart as he rides back to Castle Black with his head bowed? It might've been all of it. All of it was pain that lacerates deeper than any sword can; it messed with his mind and it made him feel dishonorable. It made him feel nothing like he once was. Nothing like he was _supposed_ to be.

For a moment, he forgot who he was. He forgot he was the steward of Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch. He forgot that he was his father's bastard. He forgot that the decision would have to fall to Bran to kill him because he would've been marked as a deserter if he actually fled himself to Robb's side. He forgot that he was not only his father's son, but his shame. He forgot how his father would've felt if he forsaken his vows and went to avenge him. He could not become the son that avenges him. That was Robb and only Robb. Jon had to stay here and believe Robb could do it as he rightfully should.

For a split second, under this moonlight that lets him see in this pitch darkness, he had decided to be Jon Snow: bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. It wasn't who he was, but it was who he could've been. It was who he thought he could handle being.

Sam, Grenn, and Pypar had stopped him and reminded him of who he really was. If it weren't for them, he would've made Bran have to behead his own brother, his half-brother, because he thought he was someone that he wasn't. He would be like that deserter his father brought Ice down on back then. The very one he tried to steel Bran as the both of them watched his head be severed from his body and roll on the ground.

That wasn't even the half of his turmoil either.

 _"Aza didn't come. I tried to wake him… I tried to tell him to come stop you, but…"_

Sam didn't want to tell him what Aza said. All he did was hang his head, fiddle his thumbs, and force a smile on his face to change the conversation to something much more lighter. Jon pursued anyway. He wanted to know. He wanted to know how Aza had come to feel for him after their argument. Jon didn't think Aza's anger would take things this far, but out of the many things Aza was good at, it was surprising him.

 _"What did he say?"_

 _"He said let him go and if he, m-meaning you, wants to die then let him die. We move on. Castle Black_ _…_ _will move on without him."_

What he practically said was that Jon's life had meant absolutely nothing; he's replaceable, forgettable. That if he were to die right now, Aza wouldn't have cared, not even for a moment. He would've moved on as if nothing had changed. He didn't know why it bothered him. He should've felt used to this. Why did the pain act as if he never felt that way before about himself? For a moment, Jon had half a mind to give Aza a piece of his mind for that. He was angry. _He was hurt_. He couldn't understand how explaining to him Mormont's guilt of what happened to the rangers could have led to him feeling something harsh and cruel such as that. How could that have been the foundation for Aza to not care if he were to die today or tomorrow?

But what would be the point?

Why should he try when someone hadn't cared if he remained alive or not? He would be like a dog, scratching at the door, begging to be let in. Jon did a lot of begging, wishing, and pleading and seeking approval all his life. He wasn't going to do it for Aza or anybody else. Aza wasn't _worth_ the fight. If their friendship ended like this and over something as petty as that then so be it. If their friendship truly lived as shortly as it came to be then he had to accept that fact. Jon wasn't going to fight for any place in someone's life anymore.

He parted with Pypar, Grenn, and Sam at his cell door. They followed him, making sure that he didn't go running off into the night again. He smiled at their concern. He smiled over the fact that their friendship was strong like this. It was fine if Aza had let him go. He still had those three. When he opened the door to his cell, he held his breath.

There Aza was, sitting on the floor with his eyes lifting up to look at him. Just when Jon thought that he fitted his bones back into his skin, he was wrong. They clattered back to the floor and left nothing resembling a coherent man behind.

"You came back." He smiled, almost like there was no heated tension between them. His hands were wrapped around a cup, a pitcher in the other hand. "Good. I knew those three could talk some sense into you."

Jon couldn't speak, at least not for a minute. He was at a complete loss for words, wondering if he had been imagining this or Aza was just that fickle. He looked out the door, wondering if Pypar, Sam, and Grenn were still out there, but they were long gone. Sam didn't seem like he was lying at all about Aza and what he said.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me." Petty as it was, it was the truth no less. Aza had ignored him for quite some time and now he was pretending like their fight never happened. He was acting like he actually cared whether he lived or died.

"I wasn't going to," Aza admitted with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders, "but here I am. Sit down, take a drink." Closing the door behind him, Jon took a seat on the floor as Aza pushed him the same cup he used. "I didn't have time to grab another," he mumbled, almost like he was embarrassed.

"You stole some Dornishwine from the Vaults, didn't you?" Jon knew it before he could even smell it. Aza hated the ale here and the wine was forbidden to be touched. He wasn't sure how Aza got his hands on it. He wasn't given a verbal reply, all he received was a cheeky grin and a mischievous glint in Aza's eyes to tell him what his answer was.

He savored it, not racing to the bottom of the cup like he desperately wanted to. He closed his eyes, dwelling only on the flavor and not the slight burn. Gods it was good. Jon brought the cup down to watch Aza pick it back up, taking a gulp than a swig. Using the back of his hand to wipe his wet mouth, Aza fixed his gaze on him to ask a rather random question. "What was it like?"

"What was what like?" Jon asked as he began lifting the pitcher by the handle and pouring some more wine into the cup. He nearly filled it to the brim before putting it back down.

"What was it like having a father?" Jon picked up the cup, the rim of it near his lips as he paused. Aza's question caught him off-guard, making him feel sad all over again. Jon still couldn't wrap his mind around that his father was truly dead and what were the reasons for why he died. The man he had known, loved, respected, and admired was gone. Never to be seen or heard from again.

And what was it like having a father? Jon barely knew how to answer his question. "Only if you tell me what it's like to have a mother," he said before it was too late. Aza made no sudden expression except eyeing the cup in his hand, signaling him to hurry up and drink so he could pass it back.

"I'll answer that if you answer me first." The reply relieved him, he was almost feeling like he had dangerously stepped over his boundaries again. He took another drink, sliding the cup back over to him as he tried to contemplate on how he was going to answer this question.

"My father struggled with me," Jon began. "He treated me just as he did my brothers, but he had his limitations. His wife, Lady Stark, hated me. She saw me as this person that was out to get everything that belonged to my brothers. She saw me as the woman my father laid with; the very act of my father breaking his vows. I didn't even know my mother, but Lady Stark hates me twice as much because of what I am and whoever she was." His eyes absently looked down at the floor as he spoke. "My father put his love for me in the little things, like when we went hunting together or when he watched me train. He taught me honor. He taught me that the actions I take make me the person I am. A father is supposed to groom a boy into a man. My father tried as hard as it was. He tried to groom me as best he could, but if it wasn't me being a bastard then it was Lady Stark who made it less easier." Jon practically drank all that left in the cup, wanting to dull the swelling of sorrow and the memories that he wished could be forgotten.

Aza hadn't stopped him or said anything, he merely looked at him and Jon wasn't sure if it was genuine sadness or pity in his eyes. "My mother was too good for this world." Aza shook his head, picking up the cup and tapping his fingers against it after refilling it. "She always filled my head with songs and stories because that's what most mothers do. They want you to think the world is better than what it really is. That people in this world are better than who they really are. A mother is someone that's suppose to love all sides of you, even things you don't like about yourself. Your mother is supposed to be the first person who loves you and the last if you lose everyone else."

"What happened to your mother?" He remembered Aza telling him that the last time he prayed. He had prayed for his mother to be returned to him. "How did she…?" He couldn't find it in himself to finish the sentence.

"She's still alive." Shocked, Jon's eyes widened some as he watched Aza take another help of wine before placing the cup down. "At least, I think she is." Pushing the cup back to him, Jon watched as Aza combed his fringe away from his forehead, eyes hazy as he looked up at the ceiling. It was obvious that he was nearly drunk. "When she was carrying me, she was poor and had no other choice but to live with my uncle. She never told me why she fled Westeros to have me in the Isles."

Pulling his legs up to his chest, Aza draped his arms around them and kept his head tilted back. "My uncle was a gambler, a horrible one at that. He spent all his coins and the coins he inherited from my grandmother and grandfather on gamblin'. That's why he lived in a dingy, old shack but I loved that dingy, old shack. With his gamblin' and three mouths to feed, he said my mother either had to work or she had to sell me. My mother chose work yet the work she did wasn't enough. She even considered being a whore… Just to take care of me. We starved some days and sometimes I had to wear the same clothes… but I didn't care. I just loved being with her."

Jon hadn't bothered to pick up the wine, listening to Aza's story while looking at his own reflection from the drink's surface. "My uncle had enough and said she was stalling, so he sold her to some man across the seas. They paid so much for her because she was pretty and said she was still fertile enough to have another child to breed more slaves."

"I don't know if she's alive or if she's dead. I don't know if I have a brother or a sister." Lifting his eyes, Jon saw a sad smile come across Aza's face as he glanced towards him. "I asked the Seven to return her to me on a ship. She would return and I would be the one taking care of her. As you already know, the ship never came and I never saw my mother. I thought to look for her but the world is too big. She could be in Meereen, Lys, Braavos, Volantis or Yunkai. I'd like to believe she's still alive out there and I'd also like to believe I'd see her again soon."

"I'm sorry…" Jon practically whispered. "I shouldn't have asked."

Snorting, he watched Aza give a dismissal with a wave of his hand. "Doesn't matter. It was all in the past, yeah? It's not like I can change anythin'. There's no use in bein' sad about it. She's gone, I'm different, and life goes on."

It made him wonder if he could come to a point in his life where thinking of his father didn't bring him sadness anymore. It wouldn't happen today or next week or even next month, but one day… One day, he would accept it. "Why did you tell Sam that you didn't care? Why did you lie to him?"

"Would you have listened to me if I had come chasin' after you?" He thought about the answer, inserting Aza with Sam, Grenn, and Pypar and he found himself doubting things would've ended up as they did. No doubt Aza would've called him several different kinds of idiots and incite him to leave even more. "Sam, Grenn, and Pyp did a good job, yeah? Your wolf was with you too, so piss on that if you think I would've came."

Chuckling, he shook his head and took another taste of wine. "Ghost isn't going to hurt you."

"I _still_ don't believe you," Aza replied, closing his eyes halfway, sluggish due to the intoxication of the wine. "Now get some sleep so you can get the Old Bear his breakfast. Let's hope he doesn't know your honor almost had you runnin' off to the Riverlands, yeah? I'll see you when I see you."

 **AZA**

Time had gone.

A year had already came to past since she had been forcefully taken to Castle Black. It was the third day of the new year and Aza was freshly seven-and-ten. She wasn't prepared to deal with people looking at her now, seeing her less of a child since she was still quite young compared to everyone else. She was just leaving her cell, fixing her jerkin, and making sure her bindings were rightfully in place. She became less cautious, taking them off at night because she longed for time without them. Her breasts were still sore from the constant binding, especially since they grew a little bigger than they were before now. It would just make binding harder and she wondered if she should lay off the goat's milk every once in awhile. She heard a whore say that once: _"If you want bigger teats then drink the goat's milk."_

Stretching her arms above her head, she inhaled the Autumn air that was crisp and chilled her lungs with each inhale. Last month, on the sixth day, Summer had ended its long reign. A white raven came flying to the Maester's rookery, sending news she didn't want to hear nor believe. Autumn was upon them now and Winter was not too far away. She didn't want to believe that Summer was really gone and along with it, her adolescence. She was a woman now, still pretending to be a man. That hadn't changed. The only difference of it all now was that she wasn't a girl anymore or so she liked to believe.

Fixing Flyssa on her back, she started to make her way to the library to check on Sam. Sometimes she wondered if it was still the library or Sam's room because he stayed in there more than he stayed in his cell. Sometimes she caught him asleep, candle still keeping a flame as the wax shrunk. Once in awhile, she draped a blanket over him and blew the candle out, letting him sleep soundly.

The library was underground in the vaults, right near the food storage. It was hard to resist pigging out whenever she crossed it. She could remember her and Sam standing at its door, practically asking each other what did they think was in there and making themselves grow hungry from thoughts alone. One day, they promised to be brave and have themselves some extra treats. Just the two of them. If they told Jon about it, he'd get all pissy and try to stop them.

As soon as she opened the library's door, she saw Samwell sitting at table in the back, his head raised as he looked up to speak to Jon. The two of them were back to friends again, maybe even more than they were before. After that whole heart-to-heart about fathers and mothers, they bonded more than ever. In some ways, Aza regretted it. She was letting Jon in too close and when you let someone in too close, it makes it easier for them to find out your secrets. Jon just couldn't find out she was a woman. He couldn't find out what she really was because Aza didn't have the heart yet to admit her lie. Worst of all, she knew he'd protect her, too. He was just that honorable and she hated how honorbound he is because it'll get him killed someday. That is, if she hadn't died first trying to stop him.

"Aza!" Sam called her name, motioning for her to come over. She gave him a small smile and picked up the pace, looking around the tall and wooden shelves that were crammed with books after books that were held together by leather and bins of ancient scrolls. She never bothered to read what was in here because Aza didn't think she'd be interested about much. If she was smarter, she would read about the Wights's after what she dealt with. "Happy name day!"

"Thank you, Sam." Aza isn't quite sure why he remembers that, but then she recalls that Sam always remembers useless things.

"Seven-and-ten," Jon said rather wistfully. "I remember when I was that age"

"Shut up!" Shoving his shoulder, she broke out into a grin. "You're still that age. You think you're so much older because in a couple moons you'll be older than me again?"

His hand went to tousle her hair, which she found herself regrettably enjoying. In one hand, she felt that meant their closeness and then the other, it only meant that he saw her as a little brother. The idea of Jon seeing her as a little brother than a colleague like he did before made her heart ache.

"Sam's been here all night again, did you know?" Both her and Sam took a glance at each other and Jon knew, immediately, that she was well aware. "I told you not to let him stay in here all night."

"I'm not his fuckin' mother." Folding her arms, Aza huffed and looked away. "He can do whatever he wants."

Jon sighed and shook his head, looking back at Sam. "How did you know?" Samwell asked, behaving small and weak.

"You didn't break your fast with us, and your bed hasn't been slept in." The only way he would know that is if he either went to Sam's cell or someone else was talking. If someone else was mentioning this then it would soon reach Thorne or maybe Mormont's ears.

"I didn't know it was morning." Tarly laughed rather nervously, eyes bashfully looking down at the table. "Down here there's no way of knowing."

"I guess not. It's as dark as the crack of Rast's ass down here," she said as she looked around. "I don't even know how you find this place the slightest bit of comfortable."

After laughing, Samwell shrugged his shoulders. "It's quiet and peaceful, and there's so many things to read. History beyond us, even history as old and older than the Wall."

"If you keep at it, you'll miss your bed when we're sleeping on the cold, hard ground. I promise you," said Jon. They would be going with a few other men North of the Wall on a Great Ranging with Commander Mormont at the helm. Rykker was going to stay behind acting as Lord Commander in his place while Ser Alliser was still in the South, trying to make them bring more men to the Wall with a jar of Othor's hand. The Wight's arm she brought back was still in the Maester's studies.

She watched, yawning as he could barely keep his eyes open. "Maester Aemon sent me to find maps for the Lord Commander."

"And did you find any?" Curious, Aza tilted her head as Sam's face light up.

"Aye! There's so many here… I'm not even sure if we'll need them all." Like she stated before, Samwell was just too easy to please.

"Good." Cracking her knuckles, she looked over at Jon. "I'm gonna step outside. All this dust is making me wanna scratch."

The vault opened, leading her to one of the tunnels that they called the Wormwalks. They were winding, subterranean passages that had linked the keeps and towers of Castle Black under the Earth. Back in the Summer, they were seldom used unless you counted the rats and vermin, but during the time of Winter, it was different. They said the snow could go up to forty and fifty feet high and the ice winds would come; the tunnels were all that held the castle together.

She emerged just to be given a kiss by the wind and yet her bones felt like lead. The reason? All because she caught sight of Ghost. He was stretched out, asleep beneath the wall of the granary. He suddenly woke, possibly sensing her, and his bushy white tail started to sway and he trotted towards her. "Not you again," she mumbled, closing her eyes and cursing under her breath. That wolf got a kick out of messing with her, she just knew it.

She shouldn't have left. She should've waited for them, but she had her reasons. Aza left them behind because she knew Jon was going to have give Sam a pep talk. No doubt he was wasting away reading books because he didn't want to think of them being out there. The Wildlings and the Wights were undoubtedly weighing heavy on his mind. Aza wasn't good at cheering Sam up, so she left it to Jon. Hopefully he could give him a little bit of courage as difficult as that would be.

She and Jon had their own share of problems too, but they only told each other. They still had dreams of the Wights they faced with the burning eyes of blue and the cold, black hands. She could still remember seeing it on fire and how it still fought to live like its entire being wasn't meant to stay dead. Jon had another nightmare about the crypts of Winterfell too and she had no idea what it had meant. She had never been to Winterfell, so she couldn't imagine how such a dream would go. What was down there that kept calling him? Why did this dream or rather nightmare still haunt him for all these months?

"I have nothing you want," she told Ghost, watching him sniff her and trot around her, circling her. "Why do you persist? You know I don't like you, don't you?" He whined, tilting his head as his red eyes gazed up at her. "You're cute, I'll give you that, but what's not cute is your teeth."

As if he understood her compliment, he nudged her leg with his head. She only saw him do that to Jon Snow when he desired to be petted. She, however, was not going to give him that. Aza did not give into the demands of a direwolf. "Oh, that's what you want me to do? You want me to let my guard down so you can sink your teeth into my hand, yeah? I know you and I know your little games. You do not fool me, wolf."

Adjusting her cloak so that she could keep the warmth in and not let it slip out, she heard footsteps. Both Jon and Sam had came walking out the vaults, maps and alike in their arms. Sam still looked unhappy and Jon shook his head when their eyes met. It seemed as though the pep talk didn't work this time and Aza was halfway ready to be brash and shove it into the Tarly's head that he had to face his fears already. He chose the Night's Watch over death. He made the choice and now had to full come to deal with his decision instead of dragging his feet and cowering at everything.

"I'm surprised you didn't run," Jon commented, eyes looking at his wolf with warmth in them. "Have you learned to trust Ghost?"

Wrinkling her nose, she snapped her eyes back at the direwolf. "He won't leave me alone."

"He likes you."

"Make him stop."

"I can't tell Ghost to stop liking you."

"Aye, you can."

Sam held out a hand, stealing Ghost's attention and making him walk over to where they were. Aza felt relieved. She pointed to Jon, hardly threatening him at all; "Keep him away from me."

Smiling, Jon shook his head again. "I don't see why you're so afraid."

"They say these wolves will rip the throats out of their enemies" She eyed the wolf again, wary as ever.

"Are you Ghost's enemy? Are you even my enemy, Aza?" She quieted, looking at him, struck dumb. "Then why would Ghost rip out your throat?"

"Shut up." She hated when she had no come back. She hated even more when she felt stupid. He laughed too, which added more salt to her wounded pride.

"The comet's so bright you can see it by day now." Samwell paid no attention their playful banter, but instead focused on comet that was but a pale red line behind the grey clouds. Aza looked up, still curious of what such a sign could mean. Some of the brothers had thought it as Mormont's torch, joking that the gods must've sent it to light the Old Bear's way through the woods. Aza knew that whatever it meant, it meant something deeper. Something that she probably wasn't ready to face or even comprehend.

"Forget about the comet," said Jon. "It's the maps the Old Bear wants."

Ghost was ahead of them as they walked. The place felt deserted this morning because so many rangers had decided to spend what they felt was there "last day" in the brothel in Mole's Town. She had been invited, but she turned them down. Aza already had trouble pretending she had been with a woman, she couldn't pretend in a brothel. She would have to be with one or else they'd make her an outcast and said she was a man that liked men, and people like that weren't accepted here. You couldn't be sexually fluid in the North or else you'd be labelled and hated.

She didn't know why she was relieved that Jon didn't go. Aza had heard that Pypar, Halder, and Toad offered to buy him a woman to rid him of his virginity and celebrate his first Ranging. Sam was the one who should've went, but he was scared of the whores as much as he was about the woods. They were paid to like you, he didn't have to think that they wouldn't like him. Sometimes Sam was so smart that he was stupid.

Some men didn't go to the brothel though, some went to the Sept to ask the gods for guidance and protection. They asked her to join them in the Sept since she swore her vows to the Faith, but none of them were aware of how she felt about separating gods and men.

As they walked, they saw the new recruits; young and inexperienced. Aza had half a mind to join them, wanting to help Ser Endrew Tarth since he was the Master-At-Arms while Thorne was away. He was kinder than Thorne, but he was still a strict teacher; he was definitely better at the job if you'd ask Aza.

Both she and Jon watched the swordplay with interest while Sam winced and twitched at every blow and every bruise that the recruits got. "What do you make of them? Yearling, Snow." The voice belonged to none other than Donal Noye. He stood in the door of the armory, bare-chested. Aza's face turned into one of disgust and it wasn't because of the uncovered stump that was his left arm, but his big gut and barrel-shaped chest was exposed to them and to the cold under a leather-made apron.

"Put somethin' on! The sight of you is disgusting!" she practically shouted, wincing like if she stared at him any longer than her eyes were going to burn out of their sockets.

Donal only laughed. "Stare at me any longer and I'll think you like me."

"I'd rather choke," she replied, shifting her attention back to the new recruits. "They have a long way to go."

"They smell of Summer," was Jon's answer. "They won't be ready no time soon."

"You still smell of Summer yourself!" Aza said to Jon. "You haven't even been here a whole year yet. Ha, you haven't even been much further North of the Wall past the godswood!"

"It'll be a year in three more months!" he argued back, making her roll her eyes. "And I'll be going North tomorrow, just like you and everyone else. So I can say if they smell of Summer or not."

Before they started arguing like a bunch of kids—"Happy name day, Yearling," Donal told her, walking over and wrapping his only arm around her shoulder. "You're still no bigger than a sewer rat." She gave him a glare as he drew Jon and Sam closer. "You've heard these tidings of your brother?"

Her eyes looked to Jon, seeing him nod rather stiffly. Jon's older, half-brother was now proclaimed as King in the North. When Jon first heard the news, he was shocked. Flabbergasted to say the least. During their joint Watch duty as partners, Jon told her how he _really_ felt about it. How he was envious but overall proud. It must've been hard, having to have such a brother like this Robb Stark. A boy that had everything Jon wanted and was his brother no less. He loved him, envied him, and couldn't have the heart to hate him. Aza would've hated him. It's probably a good thing she had no older brothers or sisters. At least, none that she had knew.

"Robb will make a good king." Loyal and kind as ever, Jon smiled as he said that. He meant it, she knew, but there was underlying jealousy still there. _It was always there._

"Will he now?" Noye was always known to be blunt, but sometimes she wished he'd put a cap on it. "I hope that's so, boy, but once I might have said the same about Robert."

"From what I've heard, the Late King was a fool before you gave him the throne. Many people wished that Lord Eddard would've taken it when he told the Kingslayer's ass to get off it," she added her two cents. Her eyes held a bored look as if the conversation didn't strike any interest in her. She just really didn't like King Robert. He'd rather drink and whore than rule the kingdoms. It was the small council that did everything and did nothing as well.

"That isn't true!" Noye's hold on her became tighter, his grip on her shoulder making her clench her teeth as his eyes narrowed.

"He forged his warhammer," Jon said, remembering something that she did not or perhaps he was warning her that he was still biased after all these years.

"Aye. I was his man, a Baratheon man, smith and armorer at Storm's End until I lost the arm. I'm old enough to remember Lord Steffon before the sea took him, and I knew those three sons of his since they got their names. I tell you this—Robert was never the same after he put on that crown. Some men are like swords, made for fighting. Hang them up and they go to rust."

That isn't what she heard and she wondered if they were just biased rumors of those that hated the former king. She could say the same about Noye too since he knew the Baratheons for so long that he could've been biased as well. Still, she thought that taking his word might've been the right choice since he was more than aware that Robert was a terrible king.

"And his brothers?" asked Jon, curious of the Baratheon men.

"Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends. And Renly, that one, he's copper, bright and shiny, pretty to look at but not worth all that much at the end of the day."

Jon looked as if he had more to say or another question to ask but decided not to. She furrowed her brows at the look on his face. "Lord Mormont awaits us," he reminded Sam. "Aza, are you coming with us?"

"You know how I feel about the Old Bear," she told him plainly before looking up at Donal. "Need any help in the armory?"

Noye looked back at Jon and Sam. "I won't keep you from the Old Bear." Keeping his arm around Aza's shoulders, he gave them a firm nod. "May the gods go with you on the morrow, Snow. You bring back that uncle of yours, you hear?"

"We will." Promised Jon before looking at Aza, giving a nod as a temporary goodbye. Sam did the same, almost trying to give her a wave until he realized he had maps in his arms. She snorted, ready to laugh at what could've been a costly mistake, but bid him a goodbye with a two-finger salute.

"You wanted to help me?" Aza didn't know a thing about blacksmithing. She was keen with a whetstone though and she was sure some of the new swords needed sharpening.

"What do you need done?" Her question made him smile, feeling his hand clap her shoulder and giving her a rather mighty shake. Why were men so aggressive, even when they were being friendly? She nearly got dizzy from all the sudden movements.

 **JON**

 _The castle is empty again. There's no sign of life here, there or anywhere. He's alone as he was many dreams before. The rookery is empty of ravens, the stables are full of bones. The dream repeats the way it has before. He begins to run, he runs to find someone. He runs to see why he is alone and if he really is alone. He knows nobody is there, but he's desperate to find something or someone. He even looked for Ghost, who he couldn't find at all. And then he finds himself back to the place he always ends up. He's right back in front of the door to the crypts._

 _It's black inside. It's so dark, beyond the spiraling steps. It feels like the darkness will swallow him whole if he were to venture down there, but he knows he has to go. He knows, but he doesn't want to. He's afraid. He's afraid of what's down there. It feels like someone is waiting for him and he doesn't know who. Crypts were strange. They're full and empty all at once; they'll full because of the bones and ashes, filled with remnants of who people once were, beneath the ground. It's empty because there's no life and the only life that would be there would be him._

 _Down there lies the old Kings of Winter, sitting on their thrones and wolves at their feet. Why would they beckon him? "I'm not a Stark!" He screams, he screams it so loud, but he moves. He goes. He goes anyway because he knows he has to. So he takes one step then two and then three and four. He goes down the spiraling steps and using the walls to keep himself standing. There's no light, not a single torch to light the path. It's just darkness and it gets darker and darker as he goes. He's nearing the point where he wants to scream, when he forces him to wake, but he cannot wake up this time._

 _Instead, he hears the first sign of life when he reaches the last step. He hears a laugh that begins to taunt his eardrums._

 _"—died protecting his prince and so will I."_

 _The voice sounds familiar. He knows this voice. He has spoken to this person, he has laughed with this person, and he has—_

He woke up, without warning, eyes staring up at the ceiling of his cell. His heart was pounding, mind empty; trying remove every piece of that dream to give him calm again. His breathing was beginning to steady again as he wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead. The dream ended much differently than it had all those times before and he isn't sure who the voice belongs to and why he felt like he knew them. Ghost was already awake and alert, looking at him and whining to avow his worry.

"I'm alright, boy." His palm gently pets the space between Ghost's ears, assuaging the direwolf suspicions. Ghost believes him and nudges his head in his hand before laying back down onto the floor, possibly ready to sleep again. He cannot sleep though. Jon knows it's first light and this is when the Great Ranging begins. As he climbed off the bed, careful to not step on Ghost's bushy tail, he looked to Longclaw that awaited him.

He began to wonder why he still felt so tired and then remembered the celebration of the Great Ranging and Aza's name day last night. They all gathered around drinking, and making fun of the Summer Islander, who took their jokes and their joy with smiles and laughs.

 _"Did you get what I asked for?"_

 _Grenn nodded, pulling out silver-chained necklace that had the fang of shadowcat hanging off it. "A name day gift for Aza?"_

 _"I wanted to thank him." It was the truth, but he wasn't sure why he was so embarrassed about it. "I saw it before and looked like something he would like. I'm surprised it was still there."_

 _"The woman that owns the cart said she was holding it for you." Grenn smiled and then clapping his shoulder. "She said she had a feeling you'd come back to get it."_

 _Holding the necklace in his hand, he inspected the tooth to determine if it was real or not. He never saw a shadowcat before, but he heard them a lot during the night. Their screeches and hisses that was said against whatever it was that seemed to anger them. Aza would always laugh, saying that he hoped whoever the cat got in its claws got what they deserved. For him to be afraid of direwolves, he was never afraid of shadowcats._

 _"Do you know where Aza is?"_

 _"Hobb fixed him somethin' nice for his name day. No doubt he's in the common hall." Meanwhile, Grenn and half of the others who went to Mole's town and came back smelled like ale and sex, fulfilling everything they had wanted when they got there._

 _"You need a bath." Jon held his nose with his free hand, looking at his disheveled friend up and down. "Badly."_

 **AZA**

She rode on Faust, clutching the shadowcat tooth that Jon had gifted her three nights ago. Her heart still remembered how it leapt up to her throat and her eyes became blinded with tears it wanted to shed. She never felt like wanting to cry because she was so overwhelmed. _Happy_. A person only cries when they're sad, don't they? But she hadn't cried in years and every time she feels the emotion to, she wills it all away. Aza doesn't cry. She promised her mother she would never cry again. When she had to watch her mother sail across the Summer Sea on a ship of slaves, she did not shed one tear because her mother begged her not to.

 _"Hold your tears, my little love. Hold your tears for as long as you can."_

Her mother said that and Aza told her, with earnest and promise. _"I'll hold them forever."_

And she did.

Not one tear has managed to slip down her eyes ever since, but she was so close that night. She was so close as she looked up at Jon in shock and awe that he wanted to give her a gift. Aza never received a present before and he said it was a custom to give a present during someone's name day. She never knew that. He gave her something of her own; a tooth of a shadowcat. Only he would know her mild fixation with cats, seeing them as the better animal.

In important matters, they had just made their fourth stop since they left Castle Black. They made it all the way to a village called Whitetree, named on a map that Sam had found. There wasn't much to the village and she doubted this place could house them, but the most eye-grabbing thing about the place was the weirwood tree. It was large, bigger than the one close to the Wall. Above them were the white limbs and dark leaves of the monstrous sized tree that bathed them with shade. It canopied the entire village, which would've been perfect had there been a sun beaming down on them.

The face, however, frightened her. The mouth was a large hole, probably large enough to swallow an animal in its entirety. Maybe even a small child too. "An old tree," Mormont said as he sat upon his horse, a frown on his face.

"And powerful," Jon commented, eyes still staring at the tree with awe. Aza doubted he could feel the power of the old gods. He just felt the power of nature. Nature was, by its very source, chaotic and powerful.

Mormont made them search the place like they had with the last three. All Aza found as she was paired with Rowan was ashes, bones, and old dried up shit. What else was there to find? She kept hope to not find another Wight, still seeings its eyes in her dreams every now and again. Sometimes it was the same one she killed and sometimes it was another. Rarely and terrifyingly, it was a horde.

"I keep thinking we're going to run into one of those things," Rowan said as they lifted up some of the halfway decent furniture in the shacks. Aza looked around, peeking into little bowls, pots and under some tables.

"You mean a Wight?" His feet came shuffling towards her, his hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes widened, shocked that he moved just that quickly.

"Don't say the name!" How old was he again? Aza began to wonder. What did he think? If you called a Wight so many times that one will appear? How stupid was that? "They say don't call the name of what you aren't willing to face."

He removed his hand from her mouth, leaving her looking at him rather deadpanned. "You're an idiot." Rowan shot her a glare and she rolled her eyes. "There's nothing here. There's nothing here like there was nothing in the last three villages. We're wasting our time." The people in these villages had fled and took all they held dear with them. They even took their animals too.

"It's so strange…" mumbled Rowan, his arms akimbo. "They haven't been attacked and yet they fled."

"Whatever they saw might've not cared about their possessions or their homes, they simply wanted _them_." As grim as that sounded, it seemed to make sense.

"Stupid bitches." She heard Chett through the little window, fussing at the dogs as he was made to have them walk around. Some of them were a little too eager to be out in their familiar zone, so they gave him a rough time and pulled him in several different directions.

Leaning at the window, she watched the boiled-face man tug on the leashes to keep the dogs from straying too far. "Be a little nicer, Chett. They have to look at your ugly mug all day after all. Let 'em have fun."

She was only joking, but Chett was far too angry to smile or laugh. He gave her a heated look as he replied; "Since you're so _pretty,_ why don't _you_ take over?"

"You know I don't like dogs." Aza's grin grew wider as he snarled like the dogs at his feet. Chett was so easy to rile most of the times. "Bitches only love their own, yeah?"

Before he could throw whatever it is he had in his hand at her, she had ducked and burst out in roar of laughter. His face was priceless! Maybe she was being a little too mean today, but she wanted something to take her mind, well, out of her mind. If left alone, she would think. She would think of her racing heart under the night of twinklings stars as Jon placed the necklace in her hand. She would think of his smile and the sincerity in his voice that matched his eyes. She would think of why she had the urge to embrace him right then all for this small gift that he could've gotten anyone else. She couldn't be left in her head. She'll start to think all these strange things and feel those strange feelings too.

After all, why would she want to hug Jon Snow? What was there to gain embracing him? Nothing. Nothing except this strange satisfaction that she thought she would get from it. That isn't how a man properly shows thanks to another man. Not the hug she considered on doing, at least. Men hug quickly, clapping each others backs with their hands clasped.

"Aza!" Rowan startled her and she more than grateful for it. "We're heading out. A bit more North afore we make camp."

Patting her hand against her chest as if it would calm her stampeding heart. She stood up and dusted off her clothes to make sure none of the dirt of the shacks got on her. As she left and made her way back to the others, she saw many tired faces. When they first left the Wall, everyone was merry. There were jokes and smiles. Everyone was more alive, but now? Now everyone just seemed tired and scared. Nobody wanted to talk under the stars and the stories were fewer and fewer each night. The whole atmosphere had drastically changed and Aza couldn't blame them.

Four villages where all the people that once lived in them were empty. The people obviously fled and burned their dead. What was not foreboding about that? Why should a spirit stay high and lively after witnessing that? And then the fact that she and Jon actually saw and fought Wights themselves had made them a little less spirited. She at least tried to recapture happiness and fun, but Jon was more than serious during their ranging.

* * *

"What the fuck is a Craster?"

Mormont let out a laugh, but she wasn't sure what was so funny about her question. Aza simply gazed at him, halfway annoyed, as he shook his head. "You'll know when you see him." He simply put it, and that just made her more confused. It was already worse enough that it was raining and she had tried to keep her hood on her head because the wind would damn well blow it down.

It was the sixth day of rain and Aza wasn't sure if she wanted to wish it away or endure it because she had been without it for so long. It had been so long since she had been under pouring clouds. Rain and cold, however, was not something she wanted. She wanted humid air and rain, so the rain feels cool on your skin instead of making you freeze.

She wished Rykker was here. She'd be damned to actually say she missed the man, but she did. She missed his orders and his advice. She missed the way he looked out for her. He was back at the Wall, prepping those new rangers without her and Rowan. Aza wouldn't have dared to stay behind, though. Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly weren't going to get rid of her that easily and someone had to protect them from Wildlings and from Wights, and even from themselves.

Now, before them, was the Haunted Forest. The very place First Ranger Benjen mysteriously disappeared in. She glanced over at Jon, his expression rather somber. It figures. Aza could see the hope in him die about finding his uncle alive as the months rolled along. Sometimes she wondered if she had been a better person and actually went looking, she would've found him, but if the Halfhand couldn't find him and hadn't returned yet… The same might've happened to her as well. Mormont, however, held out hope; for Benjen Stark and Qhorin.

"All this wool is making my ass itch." Aza snorted as she heard Grenn's whining. He was openly scratching himself all over, not caring who saw.

"And its wet…" Rowan muttered, face twisted in irritation as he looked down at himself.

She felt their complaints, the wool was sticking to her skin, too. Her shoulders and neck felt sore and heavy due to the mail and not to mention her thighs screaming from the saddle sores. Whether it was the endurance of being a sellsword or because of the fear of people seeing her as lesser, she never voiced her pain or her complaints. Aza acted unfazed, making her seem stronger than she actually was. Nonchalantly, she took a bite of the strip of salted beef while facing ahead as they waited for the sound of the Watch horn. Mormont wasn't sure if this Craster man was still alive or not, so he sent a rangers first and made the rest of them wait here with him in case they had to find another place to stay. Another night on the cold, snow-covered ground was the last thing she wanted.

Feeling as if she was being watched, Aza slowly looked to her right just to see rows and rows of trees. In the midst of the shadows, she could feel her mind manipulating an image of the Wight within the shadows. The Summer Islander quickly looked away, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing the image away. Months had gone by and yet that Wight was in her head like she only laid eyes on it yesterday.

The horn sounded off, the note quite quavering, and almost being drowned out by the sound of the rain. "Buckwell's horn," Mormont divulged to them. "The gods are good; Craster's still there."

Aza could hear the other brothers whispering, whispering about this man named Craster. They called him many a-names; kinslayer, liar, raper, and craven. Funny coming out of the mouths of people bearing the same sins. They even said he dealt and traded slaves and danced with demons. Many rumors were made just for jest, boredom or because of personal vendettas, but Aza was wondering if at least half of them were true.

Craster's Keep was nothing worth bragging about when it was before her very own eyes. "What the fuck?" she said, eyes squinting to see if she was seeing right. "How the fuck can we all stay there? You can't even swing a cat in there." Confused by her lingo, Mormont looked at her a bit mortified. "It means it's not quite big, Lord Commander." Feeling embarrassed, she lowered her head some. "It's…what the people in the Isles say." She had to make sure she didn't claim the Summer Isles. She didn't want to lecture of how they weren't her people anymore.

Nodding, he seemed to catch the gist of it. He was still surprised nonetheless. "It's all we got."

The Night's Watch was pitiful. They barely had anything and they had to accept just about anything as well. _Good of the realm, my ass, s_ he thought, wishing that vow and thought could be eradicated. If the Night's Watch were doing justifiable work, they should've been paid for all they've done and looked the part. Rewards make stronger and ambitious people, especially men. Then again, most of them and herself were criminals and criminals shouldn't be given rewards. This place was meant to atone criminals to be better and "honorable" people while the outcasts who had no choice had to suffer here with them.

As they approached the wooden home, her frown grew deeper and deeper as she saw so many girls being put to work. The rumor of him being a raper came to mind again and it made her heart grow heavy, almost as if it would sink down to her stomach. Everyone had separated, picking a spot where they would dismount. Around her was Sam, Edd, Grenn, and coming up last was Jon.

"Are those girls?" Sam asked, mouth agape and his eyes glued to each female in sight.

"Craster's daughters," answered Edd

"I haven't seen a girl in six months." Aza wanted to laugh yet she contained it. Sam really had no idea that he had been around a girl for half a year. She wondered how he'd feel if he ever found out about her? Shocked was all she could imagine. Anything else seemed rather grey to her. No doubt Samwell would've kept her secret safe, but she knew he would look at her differently. Aza could trust he wouldn't be perverse; it is the idea that her being a girl would make their friendship very awkward until he grew use that she was still who she was, no matter her gender.

Edd's expression became rather grim. He never had a happy face, which was why people called him Dolorous Edd in the first place. Since he looked more dour than usual, she knew that whatever it was that he was about to say was troublesome. "I'd keep on not seeing them if I were you."

"What? He don't like people messing with his daughters?" inquired Grenn, who posed the question that had been akin to the questions sitting in her head.

The smirk was callous across Edd's face. "He don't like people messing with his wives." All three of them were shocked, but more so disgusted. Aza, however, felt rage and pity. She looked back at the girls, seeing them all and attempting to count them by their heads. _There were so many._ All of these girls were his wives and daughters. "He marries his daughters, and they give him more daughters, and on, and on it goes."

"That's foul." Sam still looked as if he didn't believe what Edd told them, but why would Edd lie? He had no reason to. And how were so many girls here if that were not the case?

"It's beyond foul." Even Grenn knew it was wrong, which was really saying something.

"All the other Wildlings for a hundred leagues have disappeared. Craster's still here. He must be doing something right." Aza considered Edd's words, not realizing that herself. After all the villages they had gone, Craster had not fled. There were no ashes or bones around either. The girls worked, acting as if they would remained untouched of whatever scared the other Wildlings away.

"He's doing something wrong," Aza finally commented. "Whatever it is he's doing, it's wrong. It's just as foul as what he does to his daughters." And she wanted to find out. She wanted to desperately find out what Craster was doing in this Haunted Forest.

"What happens to the boys?" Jon questioned, softly at first that nobody had actually caught on to what he said.

Sam looked over at him, confused. "Hmmm?" He hummed, knowing Jon said something yet not sure what he said exactly.

"He marries his daughters. What does he do with his sons?" All of them looked at one another, wondering if someone had the slightest idea of what Craster did. Aza definitely didn't know and so she looked to Edd since he knew what he knew already. He too was at a loss, shrugging his shoulders. Aza had turned to look at the Keep, eyes slowly squinting while they narrowed. Craster's secrets would be find out sooner or later.

Dismounting off the stallion, she tied Faust's reigns with the others and gave the horse a smooth stroke of her hand down its neck. Affection when she greeted him and affection before she left. It was why Faust like her the most. It also could've been because she spoiled him too when it came to his favorite foods.

She was still hesitating about going in this Craster's man Keep. She wanted to learn what is what that he was hiding and at the same time, she was too disgusted by him to want to be around him. She didn't imagine she wanted to sleep in his old home anyway. Just seeing those poor girls forced to be with their father and breed his children was enough to make her want to balk.

Jon approached her, seeing her wariness about going inside. The both of them gave a knowing smile before she forced her eyes away to look at the ground. "I feel like if I go in there, I'll want to kill him."

"As unsettling as that news about him was, we have to go in there, Aza." She didn't want to think he was right. She wanted him wrong. "Sleep by the fire, get warm. You'll get sick if you spend another night on the ground."

"I'd rather be sick." Like a petulant child, Aza was bent on not being swayed. She didn't meet the eyes of Jon Snow because she knew she was easily moved by him. If she ignored those grey eyes and called him a series of idiots and morons, she might be able to keep her sour feelings of the man named Craster.

Jon was quiet for a minute, possibly contemplating on how he could persuade her. What kind of convincing and sound argument could he come up with, she wondered. "Just pretend he's Thorne." That was his best solution? She snapped her head up, seeing his uneasy smile and couldn't help but laugh. "You deal with Thorne when you don't want to. Just don't talk back."

Don't talk back? _But I always talk back. I want to talk back,_ she said in thought. She couldn't actually say it because then she would sound like a boy of ten. It was too immature and it was too silly to say it so proudly and vocally. "You believe I can do that?"

"I believe you can do anything if you want to. That's the problem, Aza. You only do what you want _when_ you want to." He read her so quickly and she hated it. It left her folding her arms and fighting not to pout.

"Fine." Defeated and thinking about a nice warm fire while indoors, Aza rubbed her wool-covered arms and walked alongside him to the Keep. They were silent, watching as their brothers enter one after another, whispering as usual. Sometimes men gossiped just like women did and always complained that they didn't.

They all gathered inside, Aza made her sit by the fire and next to Mormont. He was looking right at her and she was beginning to wonder why until he satiated her curiosity; "If you want to be an Outrider, you can."

"You're worried, aren't you?" A mischievous smile started to spread across her face. "You know I'm not going to like this man, don't you?"

"You're my favorite troublemaker." Sarcastic as it was said, Aza couldn't help to think it true. Mormont might've received several headaches because of her, but she was sure he liked her. The Old Bear pissed her off more times than not. Deep down, deep as deep can go, she rather liked him too. She avoided him mostly since the confrontation with Rykker and he knew it. They worked best apart than they did together.

Aza had let out a snort. "I'll try to be on my best behavior, Lord Commander."

"I never believe you when you say _try_." Chuckling, she fixed her face into a neutral look when Craster came over and sat in what looked to be his favorite chair.

Rolling up her sleeves and taking off her gloves, she inched her hands close to the fire. It was warm, comforting, especially since they were within an enclosed space. It was also a good distraction of the obvious, loud and awkward silence as they all sat around. Plus there were a dozen pair of eyes looking down above them from a second floor. The flames that licked away at the wood had red sparks both dancing and fleeing off the wood as it crackled. Her face was getting toasted warm and her back that dealt with cold, Northern air and rain, began to relax as best it could in such a foreign place.

As Mormont spoke, she rather tuned out. At first, she thought if she pretended Craster didn't exist, she could actually behave like a person with good manners. "He said he planned to stop here on his way to the Frostfangs." Mormont spoke, speaking about First Ranger Benjen, which was what drew her attention to the conversation at hand.

"People make all sorts of plans," said Craster as he poked the fire and moved some of the wood. The sound of his voice seemed to grate on her nerves without even trying. Whenever she didn't like someone, everything about them irritated her. "I haven't seen Benjen Stark in three years. Haven't missed him. Always treated me like scum." Mormont passed him a cup of wine, one that she wanted to knock clean out of his hand.

 _Of course he treated you like scum, s_ he thought, eyes ready to split into slits as she kept her eyes fixed on the fire for her own sanity. Y _ou are scum!_

He took a sip of the wine that Mormont brought with him, making her wonder if the reason why he wanted the wine untouched was because he needed to give it to Craster. _What a waste, s_ he couldn't help but think. "Haven't had any good wine for a long time. You Southerners make good wine, I'll give you that."

"We're not Southerners." She froze, wondering why Jon was dumb enough to speak. Her eyes looked at him from their corners before looking back at Craster for his reaction.

"Who's this little girl? You're prettier than half my daughters. You got a nice wet twat between your legs? What's your name?"

A hand was placed on her shoulder and she knew immediately it was Mormont. Mormont saw the fire flash in her eyes and it wasn't the flames that danced in front of her. It was the quick-to-ignite anger that was there, oozing out of her body and creating an aura of heat in its wake. He was doing his best to extinguish it with the calm and warning look in his eyes. She could hate him right now, Commander Mormont, that is. This was a sign of weakness. If they let people speak to them anyway they wanted then who would ever respect them?

And not just anybody.

She didn't want this Craster to be able to say anything he wanted to and about Jon Snow. That was one person she wasn't going to allow to be disrespected before her without doing nothing about it. However, Mormont kept his grip and the worried look from Rowan and Grenn made her keep still and quiet. _Temporarily._

"Jon Snow," Jon answered, unbothered by the insults hurled his way.

"Snow, eh? Listen to me, bastard. All you lot from south of the Wall, you're Southerners. But now you're in the North, the real North."

The grip on her shoulder got even tighter and all her bones were tensing by the second. Her hands were curling up into tight fists and her tongue was ready to lash out like the whip it was. "The lad meant no harm," Mormont defended him as he rightfully should, but he still sounded weak. He sounded like they _needed_ this Craster man. They didn't need him. They didn't need this funky, shit of a house. They didn't need to sleep in warmth if it costed them their pride.

"I catch that pretty little bastard talking to my daughters—"

"He don't want any of your daughters!" Craster's eyes tore away from Jon Snow so quickly to meet hers. He could probably see the way her pupils were already dangerously blinding her with the sight of the color of hot red.

"You tryna say my daughters ain't good enough for your pretty bastard?"

"That's enough out of you, Aza!" Mormont told her sharply. Sharp like the edge of a blade. "The boy meant to say Jon Snow knows better than to want, look or even touch your daughters. Isn't that _right_ , Aza?"

Grinding her teeth, her eyes looked to Mormont and then at to Craster. The smug look on his face almost made her want to jump over and tackle him to the ground just to do what her fist balled up for. "Right. I meant to say that my brother knows better than to want your daughters." With a sharp inhale and a cringe-worthy, forced smile, she continued; " _Forgive me._ " Grenn sounded like he was trying to hold back his laugh, snorting as he did and forced his eyes down when Mormont gave him a warning look. Even he knew that she was bullshitting. She was bullshitting from Seven hells and back again.

"Keep your boys in line, Mormont," Craster warned, taking another shooting glance at her as she forced her eyes away, trying her best to hold her anger all in. Pull it all in and hide itself back in the corners of her mind.

The Old Bear looked at her, she could feel his eyes on her face before he looked to Jon. "Now, sit down and shut your mouth," he commanded, his hand slipping off her shoulder and letting her breathe a little more again.

Jon took a seat next to her, nudging her side just to make her look at him. The smile he gave her was small, the crinkle of his eyes helped her see his silent thanks. Biting down on her lip, she slew her eyes away from him so she didn't blush nor smile. Did she ever mention that she really loathes when he smiles like that? It's easy to like him when he does that.

"You bring any more of that good wine with you?" Craster changed the conversation, letting the tension ease up by a minuscule inch.

"We did," Mormont confirmed, motioning for one of the boys to bring in a barrel of the Dornishwine before steering the conversation to the topic of his choice. "We passed through six villages on the way here. All six were abandoned. Where have the Wildlings gone?"

Her eyes looked around the room, seeing most of the brothers kept their eyes down. They didn't want to look at the daughters above them, who she could still feel staring down at them. Her eyes looked up at the rafters, seeing them peeking and trying their best not to keep too much contact of the eyes. She pitied them. She truly did. Aza wanted to save them, but how could she?

"You want to know where they've all gone? North! To join up with Mance Rayder, your old friend."

The conversation suddenly got interesting again. Aza looked away from the daughters-wives of Craster and looked at Mormont with curiosity. Who was this Mance Rayder? She believed she heard Jaremy mention him once but never no more. "He's no friend of mine. He broke his vows, betrayed his brothers!"

"Oh, aye," Craster said with a nod, "but once he was just a poor black crow and now he's King-Beyond-the-Wall." A Night's Watchmen had fled and became a Wildling? That was curious, especially since he been named or possibly named himself a king. Her thoughts and questions towards this Mance Rayder were steadily blooming.

"He's been calling himself that for years. What's he king of? A frozen lake somewhere?"

Sadly, the answer wasn't going to be given right away. Craster already was given wine and now he wants more. He pointed his lanky, wrinkly finger at one of the boys next to Mormont. "That's a good-looking axe. Fresh forged?"

"Give it here." Shocked that Mormont was going to give this man another man's weapon, her lips parted to question him, but Jon grabbed her wrist and she remained quiet. Their eyes met as Jon gave her a warning look, expressively telling her ' _shut up'_. And she fixed her eyes to say _'it isn't right'_ and he understood it, but she knew what he would've said ' _what's done is done'_ and she hates that she knows him so well. "You'll have another one made at Castle Black." That bullshit, unreasonable excuse was given as he handed Craster the boy's axe. "Here."

She really wanted to kill this man. The scene of her Flyssa going through the man's neck was so desirable to her that she had wished dreams could come true. She'd dream it every night if it could come true just this once.

"You want to know what Mance Rayder is doing? Gathering an army. What I hear, he's already got more men than any of your Southern kings."

"And where does he plan on marching this army?"

"When you're all the way North, there's only one direction to go."

This… This was worse than she thought. The Night's Watch couldn't handle an army of Wildlings. They could barely handle themselves! Aza looked to Jon, who looked to be in slight surprise but contemplating, still holding onto her wrist. Her eyes stared at his hand, wanting to remove it for the sake of pride, but also wanting to keep it because she liked the gesture. A girl that never knows what she wants, that was she.

"Let them come. My roots are sunk deep. Wife, tell the Lord Crow how content we are."

Her eyes looked away from Jon's Snow pale hand on her wrist and looked up to see a young woman, sitting on her father/husband's lap as he made her. Aza's frown deepened as she spoke like she had rehearsed this line several times in her life. "This is our place. Our husband keeps us safe. Better to live free than die a slave."

"Don't it make you jealous, old man? To see me with all these young wives and you with no one to warm your bed?"

All she wanted was to do was to quickly rip that girl out of his arms. This poor girl that was born and raised, and forced to live like this.

"We chose different paths." Calm as ever, Mormont refused to be ruffled by Craster. How he had the restraint to pretend to be kind to a man deserving nothing of was completely beyond her comprehension. Hot-blooded; she was too hot-blooded for all this. They say bastards are hot-blooded too. It made her wonder if she was one herself.

"Oh, aye, and you chose the path with no one but boys on it." Removing the girl from his lap, the man stood over them. "You'll be wanting to sleep beneath my roof, I suppose, and eat me out of pigs."

Mormont got to his feet as well, remaining unperturbed still. "A roof would be welcome. It's been hard riding. We've brought our own food and good steel for you."

Craster's eyes looked to them all, announcing what she probably knew what he was going to say. "Any man lays a hand on one of my wives, he loses the hand. And if I see this one," he said all the while with his finger pointed to Jon, "staring too long, I might just gouge his eyes out."

Jon kept her sitting, the grip on her wrist tight. It was almost tight enough to make her wince. It was his worry and his anger combining the strength of his grip. "Your roof, your rules," Mormont consented, Jon remained quiet but eyeing Craster to show no fear.

She wanted to leave immediately.

 **JON**

"We can't kill him, Aza." He meant what he said. At least, his voice showed he meant it since his smile didn't. It was just like Aza to suggest something like that. Craster was a man that deserved a bitter end for what he done to his daughters. He deserved nothing but the worse, but it wasn't up for them to decide that. Mormont wanted them to leave Craster be and that's what they'll do. If he had to stop Aza from killing the man then so be it. "We have to deal with him for as long we can. We won't stay for long."

The Summer Islander groaned, throwing his head back as he leaned back on the wooden post they were leaning against. "I hate being here and I hate him even more. I want to save these girls. They're miserable."

"I feel sorry for them too, but there's nothing we can do for them." It was the bitter truth. Sad as it was. "We were commanded not to speak to them. Imagine what'll happen if we try to save them?"

"We stab him." With a sigh, he wished his lips would stop their smile. He wished he was not enthused by the simplicity that was Aza's mind half the time.

Their conversation came to abrupt end due to the sound of footsteps. Jon raised his eyes first at the pair of feet before raising his head from his sword to look at Sam and one of Craster's daughter-wives. "What're you doing?" His question was directed at Sam, but if the girl wanted to answer, he didn't mind.

"This is Gilly, she's one of Craster's daughters." He introduced her like he was someone he was allowed to be speaking to. He smiled even. Jon and Aza exchanged a glance before looking back at him.

"Hello, Gilly." Confused still, Jon still tried to hold some manners. Wildling or not, she deserved that much.

"Gilly?" Aza repeated her name. "Like the gillyflower?"

The Wildling girl broke out into a big, bright smile while Jon blinked twice in surprise that Aza knew a thing or two about flowers. "Yes!" Her voice rose a bit, enthusiastic as ever. "My father named me after one."

"That's pretty," Sam complimented her, making Jon wonder if he was only sane one among this group. Who cares about flowers or if her name is pretty? Sam shouldn't be anywhere near this Gilly girl. None of them should be

"What're you doing, Gilly?" Jon would not allow himself to accept this nor be distracted. Samwell obviously had something up his sleeve and Jon was very well going to get to the bottom of it.

"Sam said you both could help." Her eyes were big, pleading to them just as her voice was. Help? Why were they supposed to help her? They were supposed to fight the Wildlings, not save them.

"I'm sorry, Sam knows we're not supposed to—" His proper rejection couldn't even be fully stated because Sam interrupted him.

"She's pregnant." He watched as Sam looked at Gilly, who nodded her head, either confirming or trying to ease him to keep on talking. "We have to take her with us, when we leave."

That was the last straw. Putting his sword down, he stood on his feet. "What?" Sam wanted them, _the three of them_ , to risk their lives for a Wildling?

"I know it sounds a bit mad."

"No it doesn't sound a bit mad, it's impossible." What was Sam not getting? Craster shouting for their heads? Mormont _taking_ their heads or the fact they would be breaking their vows? Sam reminded him of his vows once. Did he have to do the same to him?

Aza gathered himself to his feet and he hoped that he was on his side on this. He walked, taking a few steps at his side, but he didn't stop. He went to stand right next to Gilly and Sam, showing what side he was taking. "I say we do it."

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration. What were they both not getting? Aza didn't care about the rules, he never did. Although, he came along way from hating the Watch to tolerating the Watch and into becoming a good rangers, but now? Now he was willing to throw all of that away for this Wildling girl.

"Aza… We can't. You know more than I do that we can't." For once—For once he wanted Aza to be on his side. It seemed like whenever it came down decisions and choosing a side, he never chose his. He always opposed him.

"I know why we can't but I don't care." Arms akimbo, he saw that damned determination written across Aza's face. No matter what Jon said, no matter how many reasons he gave. It was too late. Aza already decided. "Look at her." Aza grabbed Gilly and pushed the girl in front of him, making her big eyes seem even bigger and Jon's guilt weigh more heavily. "You know what she has been through."

"Please sir, please. I can still run if I have to," Gilly begged him, her little heart bare to him right now. It made it hard for him to keep seeing reason.

He tore his eyes away, not wanting to say it while looking at her face. Jon just couldn't think of one scenario where they could escape with her. "It's just not possible."

"We dress her as one of us," Aza suggested, both he and Sam looked at him, shocked. He went onto elaborate as if they didn't understand entirely what he meant, like this was actually a good idea. "We bind her breasts and she pretends to be a boy. She pretends to be a man of the Night's Watch."

"Are you mad?" Jon questioned, wondering if his best friend had completely lost his mind.

Sam stepped forward, convinced. "It could work. We might have to cut her hair, but it could work."

"It's just not possible." Shaking his head, he refused to see this plan as soundproof. It was crazy and it was dangerous, and it could obviously never work. "You think we won't be able to spot a girl within our ranks? You think none of us will know a girl is among us?"

"I'm going to have a baby, if it's a boy I…"

Aza turned to look at her, brows furrowing. "A boy?"

Remembering the question he had earlier for what if the girls birthed boys, a look of curiosity came across Jon's face. "If it's a boy, what?" The Wildling named Gilly didn't seem to want to answer. Instead, she looked around and then down, trying her best to avoid the question and remaining silent. "You want us to risk our lives for you, and you won't even tell us why."

The girl took off, hurt by his words. "Nice goin', Jon." Shoving his shoulder, Aza took several steps forward towards him. "The girl is being raped by her father for gods-sake! My plan could work, but you're too scared to disappoint the Old Bear."

"It's not about Mormont." He stepped forward, the both of them standing before each other as they were about to get into a full-fledged argument. It wouldn't surprise anyone if they actually did. "It's about how we could die for bringing a girl into the Watch. She's a Wildling or are you forgetting that?" His eyes looked to Sam, "And are you in such a hurry to lose a hand?"

"I didn't touch her!" Sam defended himself, surprisingly for once.

"No you just want to steal her. What do you think Craster cuts off for that?" Still he tried. He tried to make them see reason and for what? For it to go through one ear and out the other.

"Who says I'll let him cut anything off of either one of us?" Aza stepped in, moving himself protectively in front of Sam. It hurt to see him do that. Aza didn't need to protect Sam from him, he wouldn't dare hurt Sam or tell on him. He just wanted to protect them both. Why was that hard for the both of them to understand?

"I can't steal her, she's a person and not a goat." Sam also added, shuffling behind him, using Aza as a shield despite how several inches shorter and small bodied Aza was compared to him. Jon could laugh since Aza was so short, but he behaved like he was a man of six foot. "I don't see what's wrong with Aza's plan."

Pinching the bridge of his nose for a second time, Jon reminded himself of his father. This was how his father would look whenever he was arguing with his own children, especially when Robb and himself had their own petty fights. "Fine, say we do Aza's plan, who's gonna deliver the baby? You?" He looked to Sam first before at Aza, "You?"

"I…" Jon knew very well Aza knew nothing about delivering a baby. His face said it all.

"I could try," piped in Sam, Jon rolled his eyes, looking down at the snow, every bit annoyed. "What? I've read about it. A bit."

"We can't help her." Jon sat back down, picking up his sword to sharpen it again. He couldn't have the heart to tear his eyes away from the stone and the sword. He sat there, continuing to sharpening it so he couldn't see their disappointed faces, especially Sam's seeing how much he adored this Gilly girl already. He saw Sam's feet leaving them, but Aza's remained. His leather boots turned to him and Jon forced his head up, his eyes meeting the cold ones of the brown eyes of the Islander.

He looked entirely disappointed in him.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what? Like I can't believe how cruel you are?" Jon set his jaw, forcing his eyes away. "If I have to save her by myself then I'll do it."

* * *

 **A/N** : This chapter was insanely long, I apologize! I also apologize that Aza hasn't been discovered yet too because I know many of you are looking forward to that. I didn't see the timing being right yet and I know exactly how I want to do it now! Because this chapter was going to be longer than this, I broke it up into two parts. Sadly, you'll have to wait for the second part because I have some more editing to do and changes I might make. Please forgive me! I know how eager some of you are about Jon discovering she's a girl, but I want you guys to like it! I don't want it half-assed or rushed, I want you all satisfied! I promise you will.

lilnightmare17: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! c:

Natalie: I can't saaaaay when exactly, but soon. Sooner than you think. c:

minstorai: I love your thoughts! It's rare we see WOCs in GoT stories as OCs and I think it's because we don't know much of the world around them or some people can't really figure out how to write them in certain environments. It is hard for me to write Aza sometimes because she's very strong, very fierce, and very loyal and has a hard time being soft, but she's human and her strength dwindles too. So how do you write a strong WOC when she's weak while being realistic? It is a bit easier for me due to me being a POC myself, but it's hard to convey it when her personality is entirely opposite of mine.

It was so hard to write a person who has never seen snow before! I've seen it all the time, so to write it was like. "Dude, it's just snow." But she's, "? what is this stuff?"

No apologies! Your review was so fun to read and made my day! I'm glad you enjoyed all those aspects because her relationship with people is important considering how the Night's Watch constantly loses people. It'll all shape her to who she is in the future.

kate langdon: Thank you so much! That last chapter was hard to write at some points because euughhh Jon Snow and Aza fighting is too much fun for me.

Snowfall: I hope you enjoyed the update! I hope it happens soon myself, but it will. I only kid.


	7. Chapter 6: North of the Wall Pt2

**AZA**

"Can't sleep?"

Her eyes were noticeably tired, straining in the darkness since the fire was so low that it could only create large shadows of the people in the Keep. She lifted her brown eyes to look at Mormont, half-glaring and half-deadpanned, "No…" She decided to be polite. It couldn't kill her to be polite to him despite how pissed off she was at him. "I can't." How could she sleep in a place like this anyway? She just couldn't just lay her head anywhere and fall asleep. You would think a person that had been homeless before and often traveled down South without money or a even horse would be content with any place that was warm and indoors. No, she wasn't like that. She wasn't like that at all. She had to feel comfortable to sleep. Many of the first few nights of Castle Black, she had pure insomnia. How can someone sleep in a place they barely knew around strangers and people they didn't trust and hated? It took her body to force itself to sleep in order for her to get comfortable with the idea that Castle Black was a safe place to close her eyes in for several hours.

She just couldn't sleep with Craster in this house, even when he went off to "take a piss" as he claimed. She couldn't even dream of sleeping with a man like that roaming around, watching, and waiting for someone to touch or glance at his Wildling wives and daughters. Aza would rather take her chances out in the cold, atop of the snow, and her eyes staring at the stars until they felt heavy enough to close. If it hadn't been Jon Snow's stupid worrying about her getting sick, she would've did just that. He had the nerve to say that to her when he wasn't in the Keep either. He was brooding outside by a fire and she was supposed to be mad at him for not helping her and Sam with Gilly. All her anger disappeared since she helped Gilly all on her own anyway. Gilly had clothes, strips of cloth for binding, and an axe hidden away. Her disguise was hidden, buried in the snow by a tree that the girl could remember. When they come back this way, Gilly could easily blend in with them and never see her disgusting father ever again.

She wanted to go gloat in Jon's face about how her plan was perfectly put together and ready. How his fears of what could go wrong were all unnecessary, but she's supposed to be mad at him. If Aza decided to gloat to him, she'll stop being angry and talk to him because she's easy like that. She's easily moved by him and she cannot stand that about herself.

"You ought to rest," Mormont insisted. "Rest by the comfort of a fire while you can."

Aza snorted and looked away, trying her best not to roll her eyes. "There's nothing comfortable about this," she told him, eyes casually looking around to see Grenn snoring. Rowan's head kept tilting forward and occasionally he'd tried to wake himself up, but then tilt his head again back into his sleep. How they could sleep so easily like this was hard to understand, but she was happy for them. They needed the rest. They deserved it.

"You can never settle," he told her. "You'll never get far in life if you demand too much."

Aza scoffed at his lecturing, one that she didn't ask for or felt she deserved. "Asking for respect is me demanding too much? Loyalty and defending a person who is right against someone who is wrong is me demanding too much? Not kissing the feet of a rapist, incestuous bastard is _me_ demanding too much?"

"You can't fight the world, Aza." She tightened her jaw, eyes looking absently at the fire. "People are always going to say things you don't like and some people will never respect you no matter how right or good you are. Will you fight them? Will you fight _all_ of them?"

"I did before," Aza answered rather quietly, keeping her voice low so she did not wake the others.

"And you're lucky you're not already in a grave," he replied, almost like he pitied her to some degree. There were a great many things Aza hated and being pitied was one of them. "You're lucky you got to live as long as you did, but don't test your luck by thinking you'll see more years if you don't do something with that temper of yours." Mormont poked the fire with Craster's iron rod, not because he wanted to keep the flames going but because he wanted to have something to do with his hands. She could tell. Sometimes he had to have something to do when he talked. He relied on movements of his hands to satiate that boredom while his mind was preoccupied by conversation.

Aza fixed the cloak around her, bringing it closer to her body for more warmth. Since they were near the door, the cold air would whistle through the cracks and snake across her skin. The sudden chill made her shiver and almost make her teeth chatter. "You want to be a man? Do you not, Yearling?" Her eyes looked away from the fire and up at him, meeting his gaze. "What do you think takes a boy to become a man?"

How would she know? She's a girl pretending to live her life as something she doesn't identify with but is securing her life with. Aza hardly knew what it took to become a woman let alone a man. All the girl relied on to get her through were observations, but everyone's definition of what it means to be an adult of any gender was different. What would make Mormont's words more factual than Hadrian's? What would make Jon Snow's words more factual than Maester Aemon's? What it means to become what you're destined to be was of your own definition, not someone else's. She came to realize that within all the personalities she had come across.

"I was told once that in order for a boy to become a man that he must desire with his every being in accomplishing his aim," Aza answered, eyes half-closed as she thought of her late mentor. She missed him. She missed his heavy, Dornish accent and she missed his stupid jokes that made no sense. She missed the way he used to sing his Dornish songs and do his drunken jig with wine in his hand and spilling all on the floor. It still came as a shock to her that he was dead. It shouldn't have since she had seen his corpse and she had watched it burn as they let the wind take his scattered ashes right into the Summer Sea like he had wished.

"That person was right." A hint of a smile was on the Lord Commander's face. "And I'm sure you know that in order to accomplish one's aim, one must make sacrifices. They must do things that keep them awake at night, they must speak to people they hate, and they must hurt the ones they care for."

Aza considered his words, letting them sink in even though her spite wanted to block it all out. She couldn't help but think that he made sense and maybe she was looking at things a little too far left. "I told you once about the future I see for the Watch." She could feel him staring at the side of her head as she looked back at the fire. "I trust you to change for the better for that future."

 _Why should I change?_ she stubbornly thought, _I survived this long the way I am. If I die, I die. It's that simple… at least, it_ _was that simple_ _…_ The thought of death didn't seem as accepting to her as it once was. She made friends, friends that she had gotten herself attached to. The thought of death made her feel sad now because the idea of going to the Stranger alone and never seeing certain faces anymore made her fear it for once. Had she always lived this recklessly? She wanted to feel ashamed that it took making new friends in the Night's Watch to make her realize that.

The door had flew open, scaring her half to death as she fought to get onto her feet. The sight before her made her breath hitch and her heart tighten as her eyes took in the sight of a bloodied and bruised Jon Snow. Nevermind to his right was a red-faced, heated Craster, who was angry for reasons unknown to her. Aza moved, her steps slow and nearly dragging, towards Jon while her hands were slowly raising to touch his face. His grey eyes kept looking down in shame, avoiding her gaze but mostly Mormont's. The tip of her fingers brushed against the red, swollen, and bleeding cheek, but he flinched. He flinched from the pain.

Like a branch, she snapped. Her hands roughly moved Jon out of the way, making Craster visible before her. If hatred could be visible in the air, it would've been scarlet. Aza cocked back her arm, her fist already formed and going down onto Craster's face. She fell onto the floor with him as she punched him in efforts to smash him into the very earth beneath them. She didn't want him to die. No, she wanted him smashed, obliterated, becoming nothing left to bury.

Blood began to flow from his broken nose as the Wildling tried to shield his face with his skinny arms, but Aza kept managing to land her fist onto his face as if there wasn't anything attempting to block her. Her eyes held a crazed gleam in them as she bared her teeth. Her anger seemed to numb the very agony of her fist meeting his face over and over again in full force.

The fact that this man had the nerve to touch Jon after she warned him earlier made her enraged. She was fury itself if it could ever take the shape of a human in any given moment. His face would be unrecognizable if she had gotten her way. Unfortunately for her, Mormont, Grenn, and Jon had hoisted her up, and she was kicking her feet into the air as she fought to get herself loose. "Let me go!" Her anger was raw, her scream waking every living creature in the forest and the Keep. She hoped that everything alive had heard her. She hoped a Wight had heard her and would whisk Craster away to death. Do whatever it is that they did to the living but not bring him back, just simply give him death since she wasn't allowed to.

"Get him out of here!" The Lord Commander shouted, and she had felt her feet being dragged across the floor and suddenly into the snow. As if he had no more strength left in him, Jon Snow had dropped her into the blanket of white before falling to his knees, winded and coughing.

"How the _fuck_ did you let that old man beat you like that?!" Now it was her turn to be angry at him. How could he let Craster of all people do that to his face? Jon always bragged about his skill with the sword and she had known how good he was from her own experience, so how could he let that happen? If she weren't so worried and upset, she would've hit him too for letting himself get beaten up by that old man.

Samwell ran as fast he could towards them. "What happened?" he asked as he stood at her side, picking up her hand that had bloody knuckles and were aching and throbbing from repeatedly hitting Craster's face. The coolness of the snow was helping the soreness and it became flaring with pain again when Sam lifted it up for inspection.

"I beat that old bastard like I wanted!" Aza was far too angry to calm down, her eyes looking feral. "That's what happened!" Still very much furious, she looked to Jon as he raised his head, letting Sam see what had happened to him. Just seeing his face like that again pissed her off and she was tempted to get back up and finish what she started.

Sam looked at them both, like he was conflicted on who he should tend to first. He scooped up some snow off the ground, placing some of it on Jon's face to clean the blood, but it only made him hiss, wince, and flinch again. "I saw…" Jon started to say, still rattled by everything, "I saw something."

Aza brows remained furrowed, her eyes not softening their intense glare any time soon. "What in Seven Hells are you goin' on about?!"

"Craster… He…" Shaking his head, he closed his eyes tightly as Sam put some more snow onto the bleeding wounds. "He took the baby into the forest and he gave it—"

He couldn't finish because Mormont was steadily approaching them. Jon scrambled to his feet while Sam helped her up, and she thanked him by patting his large arm. "Lord Commander…" Samwell said rather nervously.

"Leave us!" His voice was rougher towards Sam than it ever had been before as his angry eyes gazed at her. Of course, why wouldn't they be filled with anger? _She's the troublemaker_. She's always wrong. "Have you lost your mind?!" Aza didn't flinch despite how his yell seemed to rattle her. She still wasn't afraid of Mormont and she wouldn't take back what she did. Instead, she took steps to her left in order to stand protectively in front of Jon because the last thing he needed was getting beat again. Aza refused to watch another man lay their hands on him. She wouldn't allow Mormont to hit him of all people either. He would have to hit her first.

"Look at what he did to Jon and you're saying _I_ lost my mind?!" she practically screamed. "Do you even care about your men?! Do you give a damn about Jon?!" She hates how when she gets angry, she's nearly ready to cry. Her tears are all hot, blurring her eyes, and she feels incredibly weak because tears are made for sadness, not anger. Aza was hardly sad and she refused to show weakness right now. So they don't fall, but they gather. She can blink them away as she always does. She'll hold her tears forever, just like she promised. Besides, who can take angry tears serious? Not any of these men. They'll think her a child. "You spout all this future bullshit and yet you ought to let him get the piss beaten out of him by that bastard fuck! You should've let me kill him!"

"What would you accomplish by killing him?!" Mormont questioned her, loudly and heatedly. He was looking down at her and not only because of the difference of their height, but because he disapproved her thoughts and actions as he usually did. He thought less of her, now more than ever considering what she had done in retaliation. Had she cared? No. The day she started to care about how the Old Bear felt about her is the day she gets to hold Dawn that belonged to the Sword of the Morning in her hands. "Was breaking his nose not enough for you?!"

"No, it wasn't!" She barked like an untamed animal, ready to lay another attack onto her next victim. He would be the next if she lost all traces of self-control. "You let him hit Jon and did nothing! He already kicked us out, I know he did after I beat him bloody. Why should I have to abide by his rules any longer?"

"He had no business doing what he did!" She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit Mormont so badly, but Jon wouldn't let her. He would not have her beating the Old Bear despite what happened to him. Jon cared about Mormont too much and it wasn't just about duty either. He liked the old man, but more than that, he respected him too much. "What did you even do?!" Mormont interrogated, his fury-glazed eyes looking away from Aza and at Jon.

"I followed him…" Aza slowly turned to look at Jon, confused. Followed him? She remembered Craster speaking about taking a piss, but she hadn't realized that the man had left for so long. For a second, she had to wonder why Jon was so curious to know what Craster was doing and he gave the answer in just a matter of minutes. "He took the baby into the woods, the newborn—"

"That's enough," Mormont's curt reply surprised her, almost like he knew what Jon was going to say but had not wanted him to finish it. Suddenly, his eyes were on her again. "You, you get the boys ready." He was sending her away? Whatever it is that Jon was speaking about, Mormont had not wanted her to know. She wasn't stupid.

Setting her jaw, Aza whipped her head left and began marching away to fulfill the orders her Lord Commander had given her.

 **JON**

All he could do was watch as Aza was fixing the saddle of his horse, his face still twisted in abiding fury. Jon wanted to tell him what Mormont informed him. How Craster did what he did to ensure his safety and the safety of the rangers most of all. The sacrifice he had to make of his own sons to strange, cruel, and terrifying gods would surely haunt Jon's dreams for the rest of his life. No matter how much he didn't condone it and how much hatred he harbored for Craster still, they could do nothing about it.

Whatever it was that he saw last night, it was certainly much different from a Wight. It was scarier, almost like how Old Nan's stories describe those monsters of ice. That old woman knew more than Jon ever thought she did and he almost wished that he had listened to her more as a child. He wished that he took her stories seriously and could remember them all, but this isn't something you would believe based on hearsay. You had to see it for yourself to understand the severity of the situation and how very real it was.

"Remind me to never make Aza angry." Rowan came to stand next to him, watching Aza angrily tighten straps and mutter apologies to the horse whenever she feared she brought it the slightest chance of harm or discomfort. The stallion would only whinny, making Jon wondered if the horse actually understood her, just like Ghost understands him.

"How's Craster?" He felt like he had already known the answer, but Rowan obliged him anyway.

"Still an old twat." Jon chuckled at his answer, lowering his head to look down at the snow. "A bloodied and beaten old twat." Even with knowing what he knew now, he was glad Craster got a beating. He deserved that and much more. "Aza wouldn't beat a man to near death for just anybody." Raising his eyebrows, he looked to Rowan, who was steadily watching the Summer Islander. "Maybe for Sam but that's because he thinks he's weak. If it were me or Grenn or Pyp, he wouldn't have gone that far. Aza knows you're capable of taking care of yourself, but he'd go the extra mile for you." Jon's eyes looked away from his friend and back at Aza. "I don't know if I should be jealous or concerned."

"Jealous? You say that as if we're talking about a woman." Still, he found himself smiling, somewhat glad at how Rowan put it. No one had ever gone to great lengths for him like Aza did. His father would try but then would be stilled, Robb always had to tiptoe around his mother, and Arya was a little girl and she couldn't do much for him as much as she tried. Bran was the same and Rickon was still much a baby and didn't understand. Aza had his own obstacles too, Mormont and Thorne, but he stepped over them without hesitation.

Rowan mussed his own hair, tsking before he spoke again, "You're right. I've been around you shits too long. I'd die before I think of lovin' any one of yous. I need me a woman again." Smiling, Jon watched Rowan walk off, who was still shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he just said.

Turning his head back to look at Aza, he wondered if it was wise to approach him now or not. Whenever Aza was angry, it was best to give him time to cool off. If you didn't, well, you'd have to suffer his wrath. Jon kept his steps slow, trying to balance each step so he didn't make too much noise against the snow. Despite how much he tried to be stealthy, Aza whipped his head to face him. "You think you can just walk up on me and I won't notice? I've been trained for that kind of thing, Jon."

"I tried," he spoke in jest and for the first time today, Aza smiled. It wasn't much since it was small and left as quickly as it came, but it was something. "Thank you for all you did. I shouldn't be thanking you for doing what you did to Craster, but I'm thankful."

"Still kissin' the Old Bear's ass, aren't you?" Rolling his eyes, Aza looked away from him, and patted the horse gently near the neck as he spoke to it. "I should tell you to kick the shit outta him, yeah? Maybe Craster beat the sense out of him and so someone has to beat it back in."

"Aza…" he sighed, debating on what he was going to say. Mormont specifically told him not to tell Aza about Craster and what he does to his sons because he feared Aza would go off the rail. After last night, it was easy to see that Aza would see it as an incentive to kill the man once and for all. "Before I tell you anything," he began, tightening his jaw before slackening it some, "you have to promise me you won't kill Craster or say a word of this to anyone."

The Summer Islander sucked his teeth, eyes rolling as he considered what he asked. "I hate promises…" he mumbled, but Jon managed to hear him anyway, "but alright. I promise I won't kill the old man or say a word of whatever it is you're going to tell me. It just better be worth it."

"You truly promise me?" He inclined his head, eyes staring at Aza's brown eyes to see if he meant to keep it. "You won't go back on it?"

"When have I gone back on a promise with you?" he asked, arms akimbo now.

Unable to recall a time, Jon continued with what he wanted to say. "The Lord Commander told me what Craster does… I saw it for myself, how he gives his sons to _them_." He emphasized them because he didn't really know what exactly _they_ were. "He says Craster giving his sons as sacrifices to them has kept the rangers alive for years and that we shouldn't get involved."

"Of course he doesn't want us involved." Aza looked away from him, closing her eyes for a short time. Jon could tell that he was torn; he was angry and upset yet despite it all, he believed him. He believed that he saw something he couldn't quite name. For once, Aza was on his side and he wasn't sure why it didn't feel as half as good as he thought it should. Was Aza only his side because there was nothing that can be done? If Aza could oppose him, would he? "That's why Gilly is so afraid of her baby being a boy…" With a sigh, Aza shook his head, still confused. "I did my part. There's nothing else I can do."

"I know it bothers you to let a man like that live, Aza. It bothers me too." He expected a harsh look from him and a "what do you know?", but he didn't get either. Aza looked up at him with something sad and he had no idea why. He realized he never tried to find out the true meaning why Aza loathed the man. Of course, it was natural to dislike someone like him; he's rude, crude, a raper, a kinslayer, and many other things. Was Aza the type to hunt down men like him because of what they were or had there been a deeper meaning to it all? He never asked. And quite frankly, Jon was afraid to because he was afraid that he should've realized the answer sooner.

"Get ahorse, Snow," Mormont said to him, looking down at them both from his mare. "We have no time to waste."

 **AZA**

"If I stay out here any longer, I'll be bluer than Chett's balls." Aza threw her head back, laughing at Edd's joke. He received a mighty push from the boiled-face man, who was more than offended by the harmless words. She was glad that their spirits lifted some and she wondered if it had to do with them being far, far away from Craster. The conditions were much worse since they had to trudge through the snow.

"I didn't see you at Mole's town, Edd," she said, coming to Chett's defense for once. She made fun of him all the time and so did the others, but he needed a rescue or two once in a while. "What did you do? Wank one out before we left and again while eyeing the Wildling girls?"

"I think all of us did," Grenn commented, panting as they climbed another snow-covered hill. "We haven't seen a girl in what feels like forever."

It was a mess to walk in all this snow and her legs were starting to get sore from climbing and pulling out her feet from it. The cold was a killer since the trees couldn't filter most of its harshness. Her blood felt cool and her skin became icy. No one knew how much she wanted the clouds to separate and reveal the sun, so it could pour all its warmth onto her and melt away the snow. It was wishful thinking, she knew, but she was starting to lose her patience.

Her eyes took a gander at Grenn, shaking her head. "You told me you had four whores the whole night before our ranging," Rowan added with head tilted to show his curiosity. "They weren't enough to give you somethin' to remember?"

"You know how those whores in Mole's Town look!" said Grenn. "You're the one that hurried and snatched the pretty ones."

"Ah, I did." With a smirk, Rowan and Aza high-fived to rub it more in Grenn's face. "I felt bloody good when I left outta that place."

Samwell cleared his throat, leaning towards them. "I don't think it's safe to talk about this with the Lord Commander up ahead."

"He knows," Aza patted his shoulder, "I bet he thought about goin' there once or twice himself. Who knows, he might actually got to dip his old wick while we were sleepin'."

"Why didn't you go?" Grenn questioned her. "You didn't go to Mole's Town or the Sept. You must've wanked one out yourself since the Gods didn't keep you warm."

Aza squinted her eyes when the bone-chilling gale came and smacked her in the face, making her lower her head so that her face didn't freeze. "I don't sleep with any and everybody. I don't knock those that do, but I'm not interested. Besides, one of those sallies will end up givin' you the scratch one day."

"What's the scratch?" Samwell innocently asked, smiling as he always did when he's unaware and inquisitive.

"A sickness on your pillar and stones, Sam." Rowan had answered for her even though she was well aware the severity of such a disease. That's what it was like to be around men that whore'd around, you knew things that you wished you didn't. "It's the worse thing you could ever get. I knew a lad that got it and trust me when I say that you don't want it. You don't even to look at it!"

Understanding the gist of it, Samwell gave a slow but sure nod, a look of fear in his eyes. Aza smiled at Sam, hoping to distract him with a change of conversation. "How long has it been? You've been keeping up with the days, yeah?"

"Seven months. It has been seven months since we left Castle Black." His answer had her reeling, pure shock on her face. Seven months? They had been gone for that long? In a daze, she blinked twice, wondering where her sense of time had gone. Everything had felt like just a few days and weeks, maybe even a month at most, but seven months? Had she miscalculated all the distance because they had been riding horseback most of the time? Seven months ago she had turned seven-and-ten. Seven months ago, Jon gave her this shadowcat tooth. Now in another month, it'll be his nameday too.

"Fuck…" she mumbled, still in her disbelief. "Seven-fucking-months, huh?" It had been that long since she gotten her hair cut too, she wondered if it grew some. There were no mirrors and she always wore her hat to keep her warm. She didn't have bundles of thick and curly hair like Jon Snow did and so she settled for a hat made of animal skin to keep herself from a head cold. Her hand slipped underneath the furry hat, cringing as she felt so much new growth of hair and it felt long and strong. She could never take this hat off or she'd look more like a girl again. Just remotely looking like a girl would expose her, chest bindings or not.

Sam was unaware of her dilemma, still thinking she was in awe about how much time had left them. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said excitedly, smiling from ear to ear. "Gilly'll love it here."

Still touching her hair in horror. She quickly slipped her hand out, too afraid to knock off her hat or let anyone notice her crisis. If she kept her hand in her hat then she was sure that somebody would notice and comment. What was the point in freaking out anyway if she didn't want to be exposed? To calm herself, she tried to think of a solution. Perhaps she'll have to use her sword or a dagger to cut her new grown locks while everyone was asleep. That would be a quick and efficient way to do it.

"There's nothing more sickening than a man in love." She heard Edd from behind her and all her fears about her hair washed away, just so she could laugh.

"You've never been in love before, Edd?" What she needed was a distraction. So what better way than that then talk about love with this bunch of mangy boys and men? "Or are you just jealous of my friend Tarly?" A smirk formed on her face as she asked him, watching Edd roll his eyes.

"I've been in love that's why I know it's sickening," he replied. "Have you ever been in love before, Aza?"

She didn't think he'd turn the question right back around on her. Now she was on the spotlight since Grenn, Rowan, Sam, and a few other boys looking right at her. Even Jon Snow turned his head to hear her answer and she felt her heart flicker when his eyes met hers. Ripping her focus away from him, she cleared her throat to try to get herself together. "What does _you_ bein' in love got to do with me?"

"You asked about me so I'm askin' about you." She could hit him for cornering her like this. She could hit him for making Jon Snow notice her at a time like this. Edd was now on her shitlist. "Well, are you gonna answer?"

"He's obviously been in love," Grenn smirked. "He's hesitatin' to say anythin' about it. She must've broke your heart, huh?"

Cutting Grenn a glare, Aza pointed at him with warning, "Shut up! That's not even true." Letting her arm fall back to her side, she adjusted the strap of her supplies on her shoulder. "I've never been in love and I'm proud of it. Love is annoying, it's useless, and it doesn't give you coin. I can't buy a home with love. I can't eat with love. I can't even find a pot to piss in with love. I've even seen people die because of love. I even killed people for it. What's so great about it if people are willing to hire someone to kill a man or woman because their love isn't returned or they think someone is in their way? Love is for idiots."

Love is what had her mother raising a child practically on her own, forced to live with a shit brother, and be sold to slavery. Love was what made her mother give up on living on her own life just to make sacrifices for her child. Love is how Sam is nearly willing to die to save Gilly. He barely knew the girl, but Aza was sure his feelings were something like love. He had to have love her to constantly keep spewing her name and thinking she'd like all this snow, wide-open air, and a bunch of mountains. Love is something like when her heart goes up in her throat, threatening to burst out when she looks at—

 _Oh no. Oh no I don't. I don't love him._ Her feelings were starting to get all over the place. _He's pretty, he's kind, and he's honorable. He looks at me like I know so much and other days, he looks at me like I know so little. He thought of me enough for a present, but he thought less of me when he thought I really meant that he should go run to his brother and get himself killed. I don't love him. I'll never love him. I'll never love anyone._

The conversation took on another topic, relieving her from all the jumbled thoughts and feelings. She wished she had kept her mouth shut about love to Edd and now all her mind kept wondering if her feelings towards Jon is really love or her mistaking her admiration for him as it. How could she know? She has never been in love before. Well, that isn't true. She always loved her mother and she still does, but how does one differentiate love for your family for love to someone outside of it? Would she risk her life protecting him? Yes, she can admit that, but that's her duty. As a ranger, she's supposed to be a shield of men and Mormont says he's part of the future of the Watch. It's obvious that the Lord Commander is grooming him to be a future leader. It had to be the reason why Jon was chosen as his steward otherwise, he'd just be wasted potential. Mormont could lose her, but he can't lose Jon. Would Jon's enemies be her enemies? Technically, they already were. Aza never cared for the Lannisters, she only cared about their coins. Tyrion, however, was one Lannister she might admit to being somewhat fond of. After them, it was the Wildlings and the Wildlings were no friends of hers. Speaking of Wildlings, Aza wondered if they would cross paths with G'Winveer again. She hoped not. Gods, she really hoped not.

"What's bothering you?" Aza slowly looked up at Jon, his brow climbing up in his concern. "You've been standing there for five minutes. We're at the Fist and we need to unpack for camp."

"I-I know that!" She hadn't meant to yell and he seemed taken aback by her sudden outburst. Cringing, all Aza wanted to do now was hide. Raising her hand, she shielded her flustered face from him and stormed off, feeling like the biggest idiot on gods-green earth.

Eager to find something to do, she hurried her steps and took a shovel. She started shoveling out some of the snow with half of the group, letting the sounds of their work tune out Jon's voice as he started speaking to Sam. Why was it that life kept testing her? How come she could never be content with what she had? Why did she always want more? Why did she always crave for something that wasn't meant to be hers? She always knew she was greedy, but she didn't think she was to this extent. The least she could do was be humble and grateful. Humble that she was able to live and be grateful for all the people she had met. Why was it never enough? _Nothing was ever enough._

Her whole body went still as it always done whenever that wolf comes around. Ghost had been unusually distant as of late, probably enjoying the open air and vastness more than anyone else. Her eyes watched him as he slowly looked up at her. Giving him a sneer, she motioned her head for him to go away. "Go somewhere, wolf. I'm trying to shovel." He never listened to her. In fact, Aza thinks that the direwolf enjoys grating her nerves more than he enjoys scaring her. "Why do you like bothering me? Do you smell somethin' on me that you like? I don't have any more of those herbs if that's what you're lookin' for. You ate 'em all."

"Why do you always talk to it like it's gonna answer back?" Edd asked, smirking as he did just to irritate her. Glaring at him from the corners of her eyes, she watched as Ghost trotted away, surprisingly. He just left her, just like that? Aza followed him with her eyes, watching as he went opposite of where Jon was. Her brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what was going on in the wolf's mind. Was he troubled? Whatever it was, she was sure if it meant of any importance, it'll find its way back to her. Almost everything had its way of coming back to her anyway.

All of them stood straight when they heard the horn, waiting to see what the signal was. "Wildlings?" Grenn rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw and attack if it were their enemies. Aza decided to observe the area, seeing if anyone was watching them or aiming to attack, but they were still alone. She couldn't see anyone.

"One blast for rangers returning, two blasts for Wildlings."

"You have to stand there, waiting, wonderin'. One blast for friends and two foes." There was Edd again, being grim as he always was. Aza wanted to hit him for making them all so tense, especially Sam.

"And… three for White Walkers," Sam said as Aza walked towards them, standing near the edge of the cliff the three of three of them were surveying. Jon, Grenn, and Edd all turned to look at Samwell, seeing as nobody had really known what the third horn was for, but because they knew the dark implications, they were silent about it. "It's been a thousand years, but that's the only time they blow the horn three times."

White Walkers? Aza didn't even like the sound of them. What were they like? What did they do? How dangerous were they that so many rules were made to prepare rangers against their kind a thousand years ago? Were they just tales made to scare children? But then again, what was it that Jon saw when they left Craster's Keep? Was it one of them? A White Walker? He couldn't put a name to it and if they had been gone for that long, could they be coming back?

"If it's been a thousand years, how do you know?" asked Grenn.

"Well…" Before Sam could get the sentence out, Grenn and Edd already knew his answer.

Simultaneously, they said what they already knew, "I read it in a book." Rolling their eyes, they turned away, going back to work since their intrigue had wore away.

"Look," Jon said he looked down at one of the hills, "it's Qhorin Halfhand."

"Aye, we'll live another day." Edd continued to walk off, no longer curious or amused by anything. "Hurrah." Aza couldn't help but look at Halfhand and the rangers from the Shadow Tower that were with him. There weren't many of them returning, which meant some were lost. It always left a dull feeling in her knowing that the rangers were becoming smaller and smaller and there was nothing they could do about it. Something would always take a person whether it was the Wildlings, the cold or now something much worse. An Wight or a White Walker… When will it ever end?

When Sam walked away, Aza took a few more steps to stand beside Jon. "Do you think what you saw at Craster's Keep was a White Walker?"

"I was beginning to think that." His smile was small and sad, his eyes full of confusion and fear. "I want to know but I'm also afraid to. I don't ever want to see whatever it was I saw again, but Mormont believes it won't be the last time."

Lowering her eyes, she couldn't shake away the feeling that he was right. She also couldn't shake away the feeling that the next time Jon saw whatever that creature was, she might be there to see it too. She didn't want to think about White Walkers or Wights anymore. All she wanted to do was finish this ranger trip and go back to Castle Black. The more they were out here, the more she wanted to go back. Wights still found their way to Castle Black and maybe even one day, White Walkers might travel their way too. It was still a better defense than a ringfort of a place that had been abandoned for thousands of years.

* * *

"I can't see a damn thing!" Aza raised a gloved hand in efforts to shield her eyes. Mormont warned her a blizzard would fall upon them and she had anticipated the coldness and the sting of driven snow on her face, but she did not expect the ferocity of the wind and how the snow would practically blind her. She kept bowing her head, her chin touching her chest, just to shield herself from the intensity of it all. Flakes of ice crystals pelted against her frozen cheeks, clinging to her eyelashes and making her uncomfortable with every blink. Her face was beginning to feel utterly numb since it was exposed to it all.

"You wouldn't have made it out here during the last Winter," Qhorin commented. "The cold was much worse than this."

Aza couldn't imagine anything being any worse than this. She was still trying her best to shoulder the pain walking in the snow and enduring the cold, but it was becoming too much. Even the strong need times of weakness and she could feel her body telling her to acknowledge that she wasn't strong enough to deal with the force of every blow that came her way. Still, the idea of being defeated by something like cold winds and snow had annoyed her and wounded her pride. She wasn't going to let this weather win. Her pride won't just allow it.

"How many Wildlings have joined him?" The Lord Commander asked since the subject was about Mance Rayder before her words about the blizzard.

"From what we could tell… All of them." Shaking her head, Aza wanted to turn back around and leave. All of them? All of the Wildlings had made an army of themselves followed by one person? She didn't know how many Wildlings there were per se, but she imagined there was more of them than then were of the Night's Watch. This was a losing battle before it even began. "Mance has gathered them all like deer against the wolves. They're almost ready to make their move."

"Where?" questioned Jon.

"Somewhere safe," Qhorin answered him, "somewhere South. Can't just march into their midst and we can't wait for them here with nothing but a pile of stones to protect us."

"You say we should fall back to the Wall?" asked Mormont and Aza was ready to agree with him. What would they look like marching against the Wildlings when there was only four hundred of them against every Wildling from every village? They would die. There was nothing but death for him as long as they remained out here.

"Mance was one of us _once_. Now he's one of them." Taking a step forward, Qhorin didn't take his eyes off the smoke signal not too far away from them. "He's going to teach them our way of doing things. They'll hit us in force and they won't run away when we hit 'em back. They're going to be more organized than before. More disciplined. More like us. So we need to be more like them!"

"What now?" Aza finally spoke, hoping he wasn't implying what she thought he was. "What do you mean more like them?"

"It means we do things their way," he explained. "We sneak in, kill Mance, and scatter them to the winds before they could march on the Wall and to do that—"

"We need to get rid of those lookouts," Mormont finished his sentence for Qhorin, steadily looking at the smoke as well.

This was the stupidest plan she had ever heard since she had been part of the Watch. Massaging her temples, Aza shook her head, groaning as she did. "And what if he expects us to do just that? Then what do we do? You say they're more organized then what if he already has a plan prepared for that? We ought to go back and prepare at the Wall. Sneaking in would only serve to get us killed."

"He won't. He thinks we still keep to the old ways, but in order for us to survive, we cannot keep the tradition. We have to do whatever is necessary now." She wasn't sure how Qhorin was so sure of himself, but she hated his confidence. She hated it because it could get them killed. It was the wrong time to be so sure of himself. "And this isn't a job for four hundred men. I need to move fast and silent."

Marching up to him as quickly as she could while he called the names of those he wanted with him, she stood before Qhorin. "Are you mad?! That's an even worse idea! You think only a few of us can sneak into Wildling territory, territory that they know better than us, _and_ kill their King? They say he's King-Beyond-the-Wall, do you not suspect he's well protected?!"

"Since you know so much, Yearling, why don't you come with me?" As if her words went in one ear and out the other, she looked at him in complete disbelief. This was a dangerous plan and yet he believed in it so much that he would not see the faults in it.

"Why should I risk my life for madness?!" Aza asked him. "You're going to die if you go through with this plan."

"Did Rykker ever tell you about being a Shield of Men?" Quieting, she tightened her jaw and looked away, still wondering why her words did not sink in. "We must do whatever it is that is necessary to ensure the survival of the Watch. If I have to die to make sure of it then I'll just have to die."

"Lord Commander, I'd like to join Lord Qhorin." Her heart sank, almost like it went to settle at the very middle of her stomach. Her eyes sharply looked to Jon, who was looking at her with that stupid smile that was suppose to be an apology. He knew she hated this idea and yet he was willing to risk his life for it?

Her hands wanted to wrap around his pale neck and choke the life out of him herself before the Wildlings did. "I've been called lots of things, but that might be my first Lord Qhorin."

"You're a steward, Snow. Not a ranger." For once, she and Mormont agreed. Not exactly on the same thing, but believing Jon Snow should stay behind and not go through with this half-assed, dangerous plan of Qhorin's.

"I fought and killed a Wight," he said as if it were something worth bragging about at this point, "how many rangers can say that?"

"I can and I say this plan is madness!" she shouted, wondering if she wasn't speaking loud enough. Was the strong, howling wind making it hard to hear her or was there too much truth in her words that they wished to drown it all out? Was she the only reasonable one? The _sensible_ one.

Qhorin rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down or trying to make her "see" his reasoning. "I've seen fooler plans and lesser men succeed, Yearling. In order for survival, you must take risks and this is a risk I am willing to take. Your friend is willing to take it too. You don't have to, I imagine Rykker would be pleased if you were to go back." As if she was going to let Jon Snow die because of the Halfhand. As if she was going to let him die by any means at all. He's the future of the Night's Watch. He wanted to be here. He cared about the Watch more than she ever did, even more now as she come to care for this stupid lot of boys and men. Her feelings may have been chaotic, but his was consistent.

Roughly removing his hand from her shoulder, she marched on ahead. "That's a spirited one." She heard Qhorin say. "I would say a shadowcat before I say a yearling."

"Aza, wait!" She didn't wait and she didn't listen. If Jon didn't see her reason, she definitely wasn't going to see his either. If she had to kill every bloody Wildling and kill Mance Rayder herself with her bare hands, she would. She would do it all, even if it were out of her limits, just protect this stupid boy by the name of Jon Snow.

 _He's an idiot…_ Aza thought, her eyes blinded by the white flakes that whirled before her like an angry vortex. _But I'm an even greater one._

 **JON**

"He'll calm down." Qhorin tried to distract him or give him hope that Aza's anger will lessen as the days went on. This time, his anger was too far gone. It was so far gone that Aza was actually speaking to Ghost. He couldn't hear their conversations, but he saw Aza's mouth move and his head looking in the direwolf's direction. When he saw the two of them walking so far away from the group, Jon knew that Aza wasn't going to forgive him any time soon.

"You don't understand, Qhorin. He hates Ghost," Jon tried to explain as best he could, "he's so afraid of him that he constantly tells me to send him away and now he's talking to him. He's _talking_ to Ghost."

"They're probably hating you together." It was supposed to be a joke, but Jon didn't find it funny. Instead, he chose a rather deadpanned look at who was named one of the greatest ranger to have ever lived. This great ranger, however, awkwardly cleared his throat and looked away. "You can't tame a wild thing. You can't trust a wild thing." Even though the Halfhand was speaking of Ghost, he couldn't help but wonder if he meant that about Aza too. Aza was wild; wild in anger and wild in fighting. You never knew what to expect from him. He was unpredictable in a wild way.

"A—Ghost… _Ghost_ is different," he corrected himself, almost making a grave mistake for implying what he almost did. If Aza would've heard that, Jon was sure a fight would've broke loose.

Qhorin kept walking, leading the way as his eyes glanced back to the Summer Islander and his albino direwolf. "So you think. Wild creatures have their own rules, their own reasons, and you'll never know them. Now the Wildlings we're looking for, sleep during the day, hunt at night."

"I thought you said you couldn't know a wild thing?" asked Jon, his eyes kept keeping the two in his peripherals.

"I said _you_ can't."

 **AZA**

Ambushes were her forté. Back when she was in the Red Irons, they had done them all the time because it was easier to kill when someone was off-guard. It was only if the mission was supposed to be quick and not too bloody, especially for a grab and go. If a long and drawn out battle wasn't within your time range, you would also do a quick attack and flee. Her eyes glimpsed over at Qhorin, waiting for the signal. He would alert the archer first and the rest of them would jump out of their hiding place and lay down the attack. It wasn't much considering there were only just a few of the Wildlings and all of them seemed so bony despite how big their furs were. If she wanted, she could probably break their arms like twigs and be done with it. It wasn't much of a fight or worth the hype as Qhorin made it out to be.

With a motion of his hand, the archer let his arrow fly and its sharp point embedded itself right into one of the Wildlings. Aza climbed atop of the rocks, Flyssa unsheathed as she barely dodged one of the swings from a Wildling's axe. With a downward stroke, the sharp edge of her blade cut deep horizontally, through the furs and into the Wildling's flesh. It surprised how unarmored they were. If Mance was once a man of the Night's Watch, wouldn't he make sure his lookouts were armored like their foes? Perhaps he didn't have enough materials or the tools. Considering where they were, however, she was sure some iron could be found.

By the time she looked around, all the Wildlings were dead, saved for one. With a tilt of her head, she watched as Jon struggled to put his blade into the Wildling's girl neck. He was hesitating, for what? He went on and on about how he would die for the Watch and how he wanted to be a ranger, but when he was faced with a Wildling girl, he grew soft? It only further proved that keeping her secret was the wisest thing. This chivalrous thing was bound to get in his way.

"We could question her." Jon was being merciful, she could tell. It made her roll her eyes before looking at the Halfhand, who was unconvinced.

"We could, but she won't answer," Qhorin said, speaking from his own personal experience. Neither would Aza had she been in her situation. It made her wonder what G'Winveer would've done. Most likely the same, she reasoned. No matter how grateful Aza was that G'Winveer wasn't apart of the lookout, she did slightly hope to see her again. At least to know if she was alive or not and Aza hadn't wasted her time saving her.

"Jon, be done with it," she said, forcibly out of her thoughts while taking steps forward. She tilted her head to look into his eyes. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be a ranger? You know a ranger doesn't care if the Wildling is a man or woman, grown or child. She'll kill you, so why give her the mercy? You killed those men like they were nothin', but because she's a girl, you want to be good? You want to be noble all for a woman?"

His eyes squinted in scrutiny for what she said and she found her frown deepening. Why does being a woman change everything? Why is it that a piece of her, small and stupid, wondered how Jon would treat her if he knew she was a girl, too? "That's enough, lovebirds." Qhorin stepped in, knowing good and well an argument would've ensued because Aza felt like pushing him. "Kill her or I will, Snow."

In the middle of Jon's stalling and all their back and forth, the Wildling girl had ran off, leaving them struck dumb in the middle of the lookout. Jon moved to chase her, but Qhorin held him back. "Don't go after her. She's already going to warn Mance about what we did here. The best thing to do is for us to go back and find Mormont, we'll get caught if we give her chase."

Aza turned her head in the direction the girl ran off in, her eyes trying to find any trace of the girl before turning to follow Qhorin. For a second time, a Wildling girl had been freed under her watch. And for a second time, she was sure that this one was going to come back to bite her. Sheathing Flyssa, she felt Jon grab her arm, twisting her to face him.

"I know what it takes to be a ranger, Aza." Who was he trying to prove himself to? Himself or her? Because he didn't convince her of anything. He only made her more sure than ever that his heart was too soft. Still, he tried to prove himself as he elaborated on his failure, "I just… I just never killed a woman before. I wanted to give her a quick and clean death."

"Liar," Aza softly said, "you're lying to me, but most of all, you're lying to yourself. If ever given the chance, you'd never put your sword to a woman. It's in your Stark blood to be like that. You may not be a Stark, but you live like one and you'll die like one." Pulling her arm from his grasp, she noticed that Qhorin and the others were gone. The both of them were stranded in the middle of snowy nowhere. She wanted to panic because neither she nor Jon knew this area. If Qhorin could survive here a whole Winter, he should know neither one of them could even survive an Autumn here. "Where did the Halfhand go?"

"It doesn't matter, we'll follow their footprints," Jon replied, speaking like he didn't want to. He was probably upset by what she said or maybe he understood the truth that was there. He began walking ahead with his eyes never looking her way. Silently, she followed behind him as they followed these footprints that seemed like they stretched on forever. Aza eventually stopped her walking, turning around so her eyes can steadily gaze at the horizon behind them. Her face was aglow with the last orange rays before twilight beckoned the stars.

Jon's presence was still there, she could hear that he had stopped walking too. She figured he was waiting for her to stop being infatuated by the sight before her. "We'll have to make camp," she told him quietly.

"I'll find some wood." He walked off, leaving her as she lost interest in watching the sunset. Aza chose a place in-between a valley, thinking it would've safer to sleep there than it would be out in the open in case Wildlings found them or it decided to snow again.

Lying down on her back, her eyes stared up at the sky that was canopied by inky darkness. There were freckles of stars, illuminating the night since the moon wasn't out. In the middle of the darkness, she could hear the occasional hoot of an owl or the howl of a wolf. The wildness of the North still makes itself known, day or night. Aza started to wonder if that wolf is Ghost, but she is sure that it isn't. For the first time, she wonders where the white wolf has gone. What enraptured his attention enough that he left Jon's side for as long as he did? She's sure he'll come back or perhaps he entrusted her enough to keep his master safe. Since when did she care about Ghost's wants and needs? She should be grateful that the beast wasn't around.

Rolling to her side, she watched Jon fix the skinny sticks he found to make a campfire. She wanted to laugh at the slight struggle he had to conjure up a flame. When fire ignited, she watched how it caught onto the other sticks, eventually creating a big and warm flame that made their faces aglow with flickering orange while it danced. It was mesmerizing to watch, colors of orange and red gave way to yellow and white near the center. In the center was where the fire of the heat was greatest, where you want to get your hands closest to for warmth.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm a bastard too," she said, bored of the silence and feeling like rambling. "Why else would my mother never want to speak of him? She might've been ashamed of how I was made, but I was always convinced that bastards were made out of passion like the Dornish say."

Rolling onto her back again, her eyes found themselves curious of the stars once more. She always liked looking at them and sleeping under them. Never was she sure why they brought her comfort and a silent yet overwhelming feeling of protection. They were just stars; unreachable and untouchable. Just bright things in the night that caught your eye and held a meaning and history far beyond anything she could think of. What they were made of and why they were there, a person could never know. There were theories made by men, of course. But could you believe them? She liked to think their mystery would last forever. "You still wonder what he was like?"

"All the time," she answered, smiling some, "I wonder if he was tall or short, strong or cowardly. I wonder if he was handsome or ugly, if he was funny or serious. I always envisioned him as tall and handsome and also serious and strong. I don't think my father had my kind of crude humor. I think he would be ashamed by the things I find amusing." Jon's chuckle was breathy, almost like he agreed with her and didn't think it was right to laugh. "What do you think your mother was like? You ever wonder just how beautiful she was to make your father forget his vows? How amazing she was that he took the chance of an unhappy marriage because she wanted him to keep you?"

"I had dreams of her." Her eyes looked away from the stars and at Jon as he spoke. "In my dreams she's beautiful and highborn, and her eyes are kind."

"Kind eyes…" she repeated, thinking of her mother's own eyes. They were big and brown, almost like the color of soil. "I wish I had dreams of my father. I'd like to see him once, just so I won't ever have to think about him anymore. If he's alive or dead, it doesn't matter to me. I've made it this far without him, I can keep on goin'. Just one look at him and I'll be satisfied."

Jon poked the fire again before setting the stick back down on the snow. "How do you do that?" His question was rather vague, leaving her confused.

"How do I do what?" Aza asked.

"How do you move on?" He went into further detail. "How do you accept that life is how it is? How do you do that without wanting to change it by wishing or doing something about it? Life goes on… How do you accept that?"

Closing her eyes, she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I suppose I got tired of making wishes and trying to change things I couldn't change, so I gave up. I just knew life was going to be how it was going to be. I'm not some pushover, I do try to change some things, but just not everything. I can only change what I can, like what I want to eat or what I find willing to die for. I can only change things about me, not anyone else."

It was quiet for a while, which made her open one eye just to see Jon's eyes looking at her from where he sat. "Go to sleep." Frowning, she shut her eyes again and curled up to try to keep some warmth. "You hate waking up in the morn and I don't feel like fighting you to get up. We'll need to start moving again at first light."

"Shut up." Aza did really hate mornings, she hated it even more when she slept in and someone had to get her. Her sense of time was better indoors than it was outside too, so this whole ranging had been someone waking her up instead of her waking up on her own. "G'night, Jon Snow."

"Goodnight, Aza."

 **JON**

"Jon, wake up!" His eyes suddenly opened, all to see that the sharp end of a spear was in his face. His grey eyes roamed away from the sharp end and up at the wielder to see it was a Wildling girl staring down at him menacingly. To his right, Aza was held at dagger point, the sharp curve of it just an inch away from his neck and another Wildling was pointing their spear to his side. He was blocked in two ways and both of them ensured his death if he fought or even moved just the slightest.

"Who would've thought we'd find two little sleepin' Crows 'round here," said the Wildling girl, who raised her brows, head tilting back ever so slightly to order him to stand. Getting himself to his feet, he eyed the spearwoman briefly and then looked back at Aza, who appeared to be annoyed as ever. His eyes were staring at the red-haired girl as if his eyes could burn her where she stood. "We got your Halfhand and now we have the both of yous. You'll be comin' with us."

A Wildling man came to tie his wrist, binding it together with tough rope and taking Longclaw out of its belt and away from him. Jon thought for sure that the valley would've kept them safe, but he wondered if the Wildlings spotted the smoke from the fire last night. He should've known better than to nurse the fire and keep it going, but they would've died from the cold otherwise.

"C'mon," the girl grinned at Aza, which made Jon knit his brows together, "let's get a-move on."

Feeling the dull end of a spear to his back, he was pushed to move. Aza's wrist were being bound too as he muttered his curses, glaring at the ropes before shooting a dark look back at the Wildling girl. For some reason, Jon was sure the two knew each other. Why else would their eyes behold silent conversation if they were perfect strangers? Aza knew something that he didn't.

"Where are you taking us?" Aza had asked, "Where did you take the Halfhand?"

"You'll be seein' the Halfhand soon, but worry if you'll live or not t'see where we'll be takin ya afterwards." Aza looked as if he had more to say, but he stopped himself. His lips formed a angry twist of a line before whipping his head to look forward again.

The walk was long and quiet, the only sounds to his ears were the sounds of their boots crushing the snow. He kept trying to find an opening, a spot where he could easily make an escape, but what point was there? Aza was bound too, which means he cannot help their escape and could suffer being killed for his actions. Then there was still the fact that the Wildlings knew these lands better than he did. They would find him and probably kill him quick or maybe slow. Any attempt he made for escape could lead to his own death or even Aza's.

They left the valley, the sun hitting their face as soon as the clouds parted good enough for it to shine. He squinted as the wind blew, whipping his hair into his face as the sight of a giant, frozen lake was before them. Not too far from where they were, he saw what looked to be a man in all black, which meant that had to be the Halfhand. Since there were none of the others, Jon assumed them to be dead.

"Lord o' Bones," The red-haired girl called the name of the Wildling man with the skull face of an animal on his face and its bones sewed onto his furs. "Lookie what I found."

"More crows? I already have one, why would I need two more?" he nonchalantly questioned her, his eyes visible through the skull eye-holes as he looked at him and then at Aza. "We have the Halfhand, why would I need these two? Kill them."

Aza looked at the girl, eyes narrowing before turning her head to look back at him. "You can't kill him." Jon's eyes went wide, head turning to Aza. "You can't kill him, your leader will want him."

"And why would Mance want this Crow?" The Lord of Bones stepped forward, towering over Aza with his intimidating height.

"Aza, don't. If we die, we die. We swore an oath!" Jon tried to warn him, his heart quickening at the idea that Aza was about to sacrifice his life for him. "You're not going to die in my place. _We're_ going to die together."

"Shut up and let me save you, alright? It's my duty as a ranger and it's what I want to do as your friend." The emotions within him stirred, more so when Aza gave him a smile. He could hate Aza for this, for being so brave and for risking his life for him like it was nothing. Jon should've been grateful, happy that someone would let him live in their place, but how could he? Aza was his friend, his _best friend_ , and was brought to the Watch to just to swear to vows he didn't want to swear. He became a man of the Night's Watch by sentence and now he had to die like one when it wasn't his choice. How could he feel happy and grateful for that? If Aza died, he'd never be able to forgive himself. It was too much guilt to bear.

The Wildling girl that captured them looked at Aza with surprised eyes, almost as if she hadn't foreseen this happening. "Jon Snow is the son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell," Aza began to tell them, still going through with this self-sacrificing plan, "he has the blood of the First of Men and so killing him is like killing your own kin. Let Mance decide what he will do with him. I'm no one, you can kill me, but just don't kill him."

"He's not goin' to kill you either, Aza." The Wildling girl stepped forward, Jon eyes looked her way. "This Crow saved my life. A Wight tried to take me and he fought it off. This Crow is my prisoner, but this Jon Snow should be left to Mance if he really is the son of the Lord of Winterfell."

Back then, back when Aza brought a Wight's arm in the courtyard of Castle Black, it was because he saved a Wildling. The very same Wildling girl that had captured them now. Aza lowered his head, almost like he wished that truth hadn't been exposed. What kept Aza alive was that Wildling girl he saved, and what was keeping him alive was because of who his father was. Both of them couldn't let two Wildling girls die and now they were paying the price for it.

The rattling bones that adorned the pelts and furs of the Lord of Bones and his men had came close to them, dragging and halfway lifting them towards Qhorin and forcing them on their knees against the freezing ice. Aza turned his head, shamefully, almost like he couldn't meet the eyes of either one of them. "You yelled at me about saving that Wildling girl and yet you did the same?" As grateful as he was about Aza saving his life and he risking his own, he wasn't going to let the Summer Islander get away with being a hypocrite.

"I only kept her alive because she helped me burn the Wight. What would I look like killing her when we saved each other?" Supposing he had a point, Jon decided to let it go. There was no use in arguing when they still weren't sure what Mance Rayder would want to do with them.

"None of this matters," Qhorin told them both, scolding them like they were children. "What matters is what we do from this point on. People died looking for the both of you, and you both better see that it wasn't for nothing."

 **AZA**

Qhorin was dead.

She watched him force Jon to take the sword and give him the opening he needed to plunge the sword into him. He devised that plan all so that the Wildlings would trust Jon. He wanted to make the Wildlings think that Jon wanted to be part of them and to do that, he had to kill the Halfhand. Rykker's words had echoed inside her head while she watched the light of life leave Qhorin's eyes, " _—if the time ever calls for you to make a sacrifice to complete a task, you do it. If you have to die for the task then you have to die. You lay your life for the Watch. That's what you swore to your gods and that's what you swore to your brothers."_

She felt guilty, wondering if she had killed the Wildling girl by the name of Ygritte herself when Jon could not then they wouldn't have gotten into an argument. They wouldn't have even lost Qhorin and the others either. If she had killed G'Winveer then they wouldn't have been captured. If she hadn't been so bent out of shape because Jon's heart was too soft to kill a girl then none of this would be happening. They wouldn't be in this Wildling campsite about to enter the tent that belong to the former Night's Watchmen and King-Beyond-The Wall: Mance Rayder. If she had been smarter and less quick-tempered, none of this would be happening.

If only Ghost were here, he'd kill them all. He'd kill all the Wildlings, except for G'Winveer. Aza didn't want her to die now, but if she died before then she wouldn't have to think about it. She could tell the Wildling girl was only acting with her cruelty and her threats, but now she had saved Aza's life for a second time. She more in debt to that girl than she had ever been to anyone and that made Aza uncomfortable. Aza didn't like to owe people because sometimes the price they demand was too much and one she wasn't willing to pay back.

Her eyes looked around, surveying the Wildlings that were hard at work; building their tents, putting food over a fire, and having conversations like the blaring wind did nothing to them. There were so many fires, making her feel like there were a thousand Wildlings. It was just as she suspected. There were more of them than there were men of the Night's Watch. When the giant had come walking by, both Aza and Jon stopped walking to marvel at him with their eyes wide. It was truly their first time of ever seeing anything like that and neither one of them could really believe what they were seeing. They would've watched them longer had they not been pushed and made to keep walking.

"Crows!" She heard one person shout.

"Look, there's two Crows comin'."

Every pair of eyes that looked at hers, she looked straight back at. If they thought they were going to intimidate her with their scorn and their numbers, she hoped they would think again. One person threw a rock and she threw her head at it, it had hurt and even left a mark, but the child who thrown it looked at her as if she was crazy. That Wildling boy knew now that his stupid rocks wouldn't harm her and she bared her teeth like Ghost does when he growls at his enemies. Wolf she isn't, but she'll kill them just the same.

Jon, however, let the rocks hit him and tried to duck and lessen the blow by letting them hit parts of him that weren't his face. That's why they kept throwing rocks at him because he let them know they hurt. "Throw another rock at him and I'll make your teeth bloody," she warned a few of them, "I ain't got nobody t' hold me back, so try it again, you little shits!" She told a few of them who dared step close so that rock would hit where he wanted it. One looked at her and raised a brow, almost like he was shocked at her lack of fear.

"This one talks back." He sounded amused, too much for her liking. "I like this Crow. It'll be fun t'see he—"

"You touch this Crow and I'll kill ya," G'Winveer sneered, her body standing right before Aza's own like a wall of protection. "I'm taking 'em to Mance and they'll be seein' him. So shut up and leave the Crows be. Do somethin' that needs to be done instead."

The rest of their walk to the tent thrice as bigger than the others were met with no rocks or shouts. Aza could still hear the whispers and still feel their eyes like they were setting her skin afire with their stares. Their swords were brought into the hands of G'winveer, who stood outside for a bit while Rattleshirt had walked in with them, pushing them in when he felt they were walking too slow.

Jon walked fast, moving to stand in front of her. Unsure why, Aza watched him and let him do as he wanted. Maybe he thought if he walked in first, they would talk to him and not her. Perhaps he knew that her mouth might get her into some trouble like it always did. Aza never technically fought a king before, but she was a little eager to try it. If meant she and Jon Snow could somehow magically get themselves out of this situation then she would do it. It was a fool's choice but a girl can dream.

"I smell Crows." A Wildling with bright red hair and an even longer red beard spoke, right in the middle of chewing whatever it was he was eating. His blue eyes met them when he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

"One killed his friends and we thought you might wanna question 'im," Rattleshirt informed him, "and the other saved G'Winveer's life against a Wight."

The red-haired man stopped eating and turned to look at her, "Which of the baby Crows saved G'Winveer?" he politely asked, bit of what she discovered by scent alone to be chicken had spat out as he talked. Aza wrinkled her nose in disgust as some of it had flown into her fur.

"The tiny one," The Lord of Bones answered as the Wildling man stood up, towering over both her and Jon, but more so her. Why were all these Wildlings so tall? Why did everyone she practically meet make her have to look up at them like she was some sort of child? How she wished she was taller. She doubted she was going to grow another inch, especially at seven-and-ten.

"The other baby one killed Qhorin Halfhand." Aza looked over her shoulder, seeing Ygritte come walking into the tent. She had been part of the Lord of Bones party when they were captured at the frozen lake. And since then, she had been pestering Jon Snow with every chance she got. Aza wasn't sure why and she was even more unsure why it made her seethe. "They want to be one of us."

The Wildling standing before her looked to Jon, taking a sudden interest of him since he was the one that killed Qhorin. He looked angry, almost like Jon had taken away a kill that should've been his. "That Halfhanded cunt killed friends of mine, friends that are twice your size."

"My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their heart." Aza could smile at Jon's lack of fear and how eloquent he spoke; not quaver or a sign of hesitation. In fact, she did smile, wondering if he was the one going to get them in trouble this time. How she would've loved to rub it in his face that he was just as quick-tempered and wild as her if he did.

"Plenty o' men tried to put their swords in my heart and there's plenty o' little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name boy?"

"Jon Snow," he answered, his eyes steadily looking back into the tall Wildling's blue ones. Then the Wildling man walked away from him, looking back at her.

With a tilt of his head, she watched his thick brows furrow in what appeared to be surprise. "Such a tiny, little Crow." He said about her, making her smile turn right back into a frown. "This little girl killed a Wight for G'win. It must've been some Wight for G'Winveer to have to rely on this hatchling."

Her heart went cold.

It went colder than the Northern winds and it felt like it had stopped almost instantly. It felt like it lost the fight within itself and the blood wouldn't pump through it anymore. It felt like she was going to die. She was going to die with her eyes opened wide, staring into the blue eyes of this Wildling man that revealed a truth she wished was never made known. How could he tell? How did he know? How did he see through this disguise that had prevailed throughout the years? All her questions were bound to be answered, but she had wished that Jon Snow wasn't here to hear them.

"I thought there were only boy Crows at the Wall, Mance." He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the man they hadn't yet seen and was behind a thin curtain that blocked their sight of him.

"It has been some years since I last was a Crow…" A man remarked as he stepped away from the curtain, coming into the clearer light where they all could see him. He was tall, the hair on his head pitch black while his shadow of a beard was grey. He was lean and straight with his nose long and narrow. "Have they come so small in numbers that they would bring a woman to the fold?"

"Aza isn't a woman," Jon stepped forward, defending her, not knowing just how wrong he was, "he's a boy, a _man_ of the Night's Watch." It made her heart ache with how sure he sounded, like he knew he was right. _Like he knew the truth._

"I've thought I've seen everything." The red-haired man gave out a rather hearty laugh, one that could shake the whole tent if he raised it another note. "But I'd never thought I see a girl be able to fool a bunch of men into thinking she's a boy."

"If you don't believe us, Crow," Rattleshirt stepped forward, pulling back her cloak in teasing tugs. "We can show ya her teats that she's been bindin' all this time."

Tightening her jaw, she spun on her heels to turn towards the Lord of Bones that was laughing at his own dirty joke. "Try to rip my clothes and I _will_ rip out your eyes," she threatened, meaning every word that she had said. Aza didn't care how many Wildlings were in this tent, she'd die before a man stripped her of her clothes and take advantage of her.

"Aza…" His voice wasn't cold, his anger was usually as cold as Winter, but this time it's hot, hot like Summer. It's flaring. It's hotter than the great flames of a bonfire, hotter than the Summer sun in the Summer Isles that would nearly make you black out and sweat your life away. She didn't want to face him. She _couldn't_ face him. So Aza kept her eyes down to the floor because the floor is easier to look at than Jon's angry eyes. "Look at me!" Aza flinched, never having heard him yell so loudly before. Out of all the things she never feared, she had come to grow scared of seeing the hurt and anger on a person she had cared for face.

"Easy now, Snow." Mance Rayder stepped in, unexpectedly coming to her defense. She hadn't deserved it and she didn't want it either. Why would she want Mance Rayder to defend her? He was their enemy. "There must be a reason why the girl had to hide."

"I don't care about her reasons!" Jon yelled back, like had been all too unaware of who he was exactly yelling at. He stepped towards her, she could tell since she saw his boots right before her own because her eyes still gazed down. "Look at me!"

Knowing that the truth couldn't be hidden away another day or even another second more, Aza raised her head to meet the intense and infuriated gaze of Jon Snow. He looked her in her eyes, searching for her to tell him that all of this had been a lie. The devastation she felt when he slowly took the animal-skinned hat off her head was absolute. Her hair, wavy and in need of a good brushing, had fell down, landing right on her shoulders. It had grown that long in seven months and she had been too late to cut it. This moment could've been much less painful if she remembered to cut her stupid hair.

His eyes widened at the reveal, his eyes roaming all over her hair and then at her face. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't…" Aza mumbled, weak at heart and quiet in voice. "…I didn't lie." Now she was just making excuses, she knew she was, but she wanted to make this less painful than it already was. "You never asked."

"I never asked?!" he repeated incredulously. "Why would I need to ask if you're a boy, Aza?! You were in the Night's Watch! You swore an oath as a _man_!"

Lowering her eyes again, she would rather stare at the floor because she felt too ashamed and more so afraid to look into his eyes again. "If I said I was a girl, I would've been killed. Do you think a girl could get away with murdering people for coin and not get her head cut off from her shoulders? A man can repent at the Wall, but a girl cannot. I wanted to live. I _chose_ to live."

"A wanted killer and a good liar," the redhead man whistled, entertained by it all. "She's dangerous."

"Tormund," Mance said his name sternly, eyes showing how he didn't find the humor in a situation like this, "that's enough."

"You didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth?" There was a sadness to his voice that her bite her lip. It had hurt to hear it. It had made her heart ache to hear how sad he sounded. "Has everything you've told me been a lie? Is Aza even your real name? Are you really from the Summer Isles? What else have you been lying to me about?!"

"That's enough!" A woman had entered the tents, belly swollen with child. She was not at the stage where she mostly waddled as she walked, but she was far along to the point where the baby would come in a few good months if the gods were kind. Her blonde hair stood out and her grey eyes were warm with kindness. Her skinny arms wrapped around Aza, protectively, like a mother does to her child. It took her by surprise, but Aza had not shrugged her away. "I'm taking the girl with me."

Mance looked at her, a fondness in his eyes from what Aza could see when she looked at him as if he was going to say who the woman was. He had, at least not completely. "Go ahead, Dalla. She's yours."

Her eyes looked back to Jon, who was staring at her with a mixture of anger and confusion. She averted her gaze, looking up at the blonde-haired woman that took her out of Mance's tent and outside into the camp. Aza was relieved that the woman took her away because if she had stayed any longer, she wouldn't have been able to keep her promise she made to her mother all those years ago.

* * *

 **A/N** : Wow! 14 reviews for one chapter? That literally makes me the happiest person ever.

I also cannot believe that Guest saw right through my plans by pure coincidence! That's the reason I've been waiting to reveal her secret to Jon and that's because I wanted to write Mance and Tormund's reaction towards her. I wanted to make the scene funny, but I couldn't imagine it with Jon being so furious. Why wouldn't he be? Someone he trusts has been keeping a really huge secret from him for a year.

But one funny thing I found out is that if you make a couple name with Jon and Aza, you get Jaza. Jaza is an actual word/name that means "reward for good deeds" or "compensate". Aza may no longer be a merc, but she's still getting _compensated_.

I hope some of people afraid of Ygritte/Jon are a bit relieved in this chapter. Don't worry guys, I won't disappoint you.

I can't answer all you guys because WOW! That's a lot! I'm so grateful. Really, I am!

Minstorai: That was literally my idea at first, but then I decided on G'win because I wanted more Wildling girls. I wonder how you felt about Aza vs. Craster. Even her "shut up and left me save you" was soft but she couldn't even do it without insulting him. She is tough all the time, I know it'll be hard for me when comes to terms with her feelings. She'll probably still yell at him even then.

Natalie: Thank you! It is so hard to write from a perspective of a person that has never seen snow, and I've seen it plenty of times. So, I tried to think of how I viewed it and try to make it sound fresh for her 'cause god... That was really hard to explain for me. I'm in love with the idea that Aza has her own Ygritte. I just really wanted more female companions for Aza, especially Wildling ones. I think their concept of freedom would really speak to her and having another female to talk to is essential for her at this point. Since some of the book characters aren't in the show, I'm gonna add a few of them like Dalla, Val, and Munda, but I wanted one that could travel with Aza if she needs to since those three are hardcore Free Folk that mostly stay with their people.

CherryTootsiePop: I'm so glad you feel this way! I wanted her to be not out of touch, but realistic to some degree where it feels you can see her there and not just her blending in the background or too loud and strange.

AppoloniaAstria: It's coming. She actually started to miss Ghost and even walked and talked with him. They'll be best friends before you know it.


	8. Chapter 7: Your Sword and Your Shield

**AZA**

Sad. That was as plainly as she could describe how she was feeling while she sat in this tent that the pregnant Wildling woman took her to. Aza pulled her knees close as they could get to her chest, unable to find comfort in leaving them stretched out. For a time, she wanted to curl up, make herself into a ball and block out all her of her surroundings. Her body ached, inwardly, like a plethora of every single one of her bones were shattering, leaving her nothing but a sack of flesh rotting away at itself. The air felt heavy and time felt agonizingly slow. She couldn't even tell where the sun was in the sky or if it was even still up since there were no windows to the tents. No matter if the sun was still out or it was the moon's turn, the day felt like it would never be over.

The wants and needs to shed a tear made her feel nauseous. Her stomach kept churning and flopping like she was bound to let out some bile that would never come up. There was nothing in her stomach to vomit in the first place since she hadn't ate since the time they last made camp before reaching this place. Aza soon let her tired body out of its fetal position and laid down onto the cot on her side, feeling weaker and infantile as the minutes and maybe even hours rolled on.

Jon was just a man, just another person she could definitely be without. She had great many friends that either died or left her side one way or another. It should've been easier to bare with the loss of a man she only knew for a year, but this hurt in the worse way. It was painful to think of the look of betrayal that came across his eyes and how his anger was directed purely at her. Was hiding what she was really that bad? Her concept of right and wrong was a little skewed since she had been keeping this lie for so long. The severity of it didn't make sense to her no matter how much she tried to understand. She hated how somewhat free she felt now that the truth was out. She could breathe a little more and not have to worry if every waking minute someone would discover it. It was considerably better now that they weren't at the Wall due to the consequences of her being a girl and a Night's Watchman. She didn't think the Wildlings would go run and tell on her. They wanted to kill Crows, not expose secrets that wouldn't do anything for their cause.

The tent's flap was lifted, she could tell without even looking since she was greeted with a sudden hit of cold wind. It skimmed across the only exposed skin, which was her face and made her shiver since she had gotten so use to the heat of the fire not too far from where she laid. Aza immediately sat up, her eyes seizing on who decided to bother her now. "You've caused quite a stir, Girl Crow." Another blonde-haired woman said to her. She wasn't Dalla, but most likely close of kin to her. They were the only two she seen with blonde hair like that in the Wildling camp. "Dalla sent me t' give you some clothes, you won't be needing the black any longer."

"Who are you?" Aza decided to ask, eyeing the bundle of furs, gloves, woollen breeches and some leather boots that looked more comfortable than the ones she adorned.

"The name is Val," she answered, "and your name is Aza, I know. Everyone in camp knows your name now, Girl Crow."

"Thanks." With a sigh, Aza took the clothes that were handed to her and rested them on her lap. She didn't know how to feel about how the Wildlings had a slight fascination with her. She couldn't blame them, really. Aza looked nothing like them. She stood out, even if she didn't want to.

"Where are you from?" Val's eyes were observing her as she spoke, eyes roaming all over everything she could see before making eye contact. "You're a Southron girl, but how far south do you hail?"

"Far, very far. So much far, you'd almost be as south as South goes." Val's eyes lit up with curiosity, questions being born by the thousands as Aza looked at her bright, grey eyes. She didn't feel like answering them all, especially not know.

With a hum, the blonde woman gave a slow nod. "If we t' ever live t'see such things, I'd like t'see how far south one can go."

"You mean to run away from _them_?" It didn't take long for her to realize that Val must've meant the Others or maybe even the White Walker. "You won't fight?"

"Fight?" Val echoed, somewhat flabbergasted as she rose a neatly arched eyebrow. "There's but so much of a fight you can give t' their like. It's best t' run for that's all we can do for now. Many of us have been lost and we can't lose more." She then looked away, staring off into nothing. "I've seen so little of the world and it's all because they built that Wall and took claim of a land that once belonged t' all o' us." There was some vehemence in how she spoke, not to mention how deep her frown was getting. "I've always wanted t'see the world, but South is where we might get the chance t'see more days until they come t' take that too."

Aza lowered her eyes, letting the words sink in. She never saw a White Walker before, but the stories about them, as vague as she heard them, had put a weight on her mind. She could clearly remember Jon's eyes wide and full of fear, like he saw the most frightening thing anyone could ever possibly lay their eyes on. He could barely speak, truly unable to believe what he witnessed. Even now, as time had pass since that day, he always seemed like he never wanted to remember what he saw at all.

"Mance will want t' speak t' you soon." She wasn't surprised at that, she was sure he had questions. What kind of questions? Probably what her motives were and why did she save G'Winveer. He probably asked Jon Snow a bunch of the same questions too. "Have you really flown from the nest, Girl Crow? Do you really want t' be a free woman of the Free Folk? You weren't free at all when you were a bird and now you can be."

Aza wanted to say no in all her honesty. Even if she didn't want to swear the vows she did or hated some of the conditions that came with the Watch, her blood still ran black. Loyalty was a thing Aza never wavered from unless her hand was forced. "The Night's Watch caged me," Aza lied, a smile on her face to give it some sincerity. "What woman would look freedom in its face and turn away, yeah? I've never liked people telling me what to do. I want to do what I want when I want."

She wondered if Val believed her, the smile on the blonde's face seemed to prove that she did. "I can teach you the ways." Val then began to stand to her feet. "Sometimes when you give someone a taste of freedom, they spoil it. Get changed and come outside. Us Free Folk women do not look so down for foolish men."

Before Aza could defend herself, verbally, Val already left the tent. She would've lied if she would've told her that she wasn't sulking as Val implied she was. Aza was sulking and so obviously too. Her eyes looked down at the clothes in her hands, pressing her thumb against the material to get a feel of it. "I've gone from mercenary to Crow to Wildling… What's next?"

 **JON**

"How long will you avoid her, Snow?"

The last thing he wanted was a Wildling trying to mend his relationship with Aza. He didn't want Mance's encouragement or view of things. He didn't want to hear how he was being too harsh or anything of the sort. Jon would find his own way of coming to terms with what happened, but for now, it was best neither one of them should confront each other. Jon didn't even know how to approach Aza, the girl. Aza, the boy, was easier to speak to and befriend. Aza the girl was like sort of strange entity that only compelled him to avoid her.

"Why does it matter to you if I avoid her or not?" Jon asked Mance Rayder. "Don't you like discord between Crows?"

"Neither one of you are Crows or am I wrong to believe that?" Jon kept his eyes hardened and fixed on Mance, knowing that any moment, the Wildlings would think him a traitor. He already convinced them that he had forsaken the Watch because he wanted to fight for the side that cared about life; that cared about defeating the White Walkers. He couldn't ruin his chances of fulfilling the dying wish that Qhorin Halfhand had left for him. He could not let Qhorin's death be for naught.

"We are Free Folk," Jon insisted. "Aza and I are your people now."

 _"Jon, you have to be careful about your friend. I think once he gets a taste of the free folk, you might lose him forever."_ Qhorin's voice came to mind, _"Mance was once one of us. He was the best of us and the worst of us. He never learned how to obey. Aza has the same troubles, doesn't he? You have to look out for him, you have to keep his blood black or you must prepare to lose him. You may even have to kill him."_

"And Free Folk must stick together through thick and thin. If we fight each other, how can we fight the Crows or the Wights or whatever else comes for us? Us united is of most importance, Jon Snow."

His eyes averted, looking down at the tent's floor. It would've been wise to implement Mance's words in his thoughts towards Aza and himself because they were still of the Night's Watch, just pretending to be Wildlings for inside information and survival. Jon was sure that no matter what, Aza's blood was still black like his own. Qhorin's worries were just paranoia, he thought that ardently the first time. Even with that secret, Aza worked hard for the Watch. She just wouldn't give it all up for their kind, of that he was sure. She swore the vows, she obeyed Rykker more than she obeyed the Lord Commander. Would she give up all she worked for to be a Wildling? _Jon wouldn't allow it_. "She lied to me for a _year._ She hadn't trusted me with who she really was for a year," he stressed again, showing how irate he was about it still.

"It isn't about her being a girl, is it?" Mance asked. "It is about her not trusting you with the truth."

It was both. Jon wouldn't tell him that, though. It would sound daft for him to say he was conflicted about finding out she was a girl. He was relieved in some ways and then in others, he was furious. Aza wasn't a fragile girl, he knew that. He was more than aware of that for he saw it every day with his own eyes since he first met her. She did not sit idly or behave like the songs of women dead before their time or wait for a man to save her. She did not seek for protection or validation. She did her own validating and protecting, for herself and others; she protected him, even more than most. His pride wasn't wounded that a girl protected him, fought with him and for him. It wasn't any of that. What bothered him, angered him, hurt him the most was because he should've been the one protecting her. Not in the matter that he thought of her incapable or that he was so noble before the sight of a woman. It all stemmed down to that she was a girl in the Night's Watch.

Just that alone had put her in the greatest of dangers for she was in the cesspool of men forced into celibacy; rapers and men that saw women as nothing or never even near their equal there. They were all around her and always on the verge of finding out that dangerous secret. Aza would fight the world if she could and Jon believed she shouldn't have to fight it alone. He loathed the fact that she was always alone, even when he was standing right next to her. He hated that she was in the position of constant fear of being exposed and had to suffer through it alone. Why did she always force him to share his burdens and yet she never shared hers?

"Aza was—" Jon thought for a moment, wondering if the word 'was' really what became of them now. Aza _was_ his friend. Aza _was_ someone he trusted. Aza _was_ someone of importance to him. Shouldn't it have still been is? Had he really thought to end it all because of this? Was this something he couldn't overcome? "It doesn't matter." He shook the thought away. He didn't want to think about it. "You said I have to go with the hunting band if I want to eat. When do they leave?"

"First light," Mance gave answer, relieving Jon of the conversation of Aza, completely changing the topic entirely. The King-Beyond-the-Wall was still gazing at him, questions in his eyes but not coming out of his mouth. Jon was grateful of that, for he knew the man would come to question him again, eventually.

Jon bowed his head as he stood, making the Wildling leader give him half a smile. "I thought I told you we do not bow or kneel North of the Wall?"

"A force of habit," Jon replied with a small smile before he left the large tent, getting hit with the first touch of morning cold.

The Wildlings were active, busier than ever with their chores since they were still getting accustomed to the campsite after having to leave their respective villages. It would be a while until they left this place too and advanced South, getting themselves closer to the Wall and Castle Black. As he looked around, his dark grey eyes caught the sight of G'Winveer, having only remembered her name since she was the reason why Aza was still alive right now. She had been standing in front of the tent that Dalla told him was now occupied by his peer. The Wildling girl stood before the tent's flaps, almost like she was unsure if she could walk in. He was more than surprised to see Aza was the one coming out and dressed like the Wildlings now.

Her hood was kept down, letting him see her thick hair that had been properly brushed and parted down the middle since he last saw her. Jon wanted to laugh at how oversized the tunic and cloak was on her. It was like someone had put old clothes of a man on a little child. Aza was still shorter than most, which always made clothes made for taller people seem much too large for her. Despite that, Aza had completely took the look of a girl in his eyes now. He wasn't sure if it was because he knew the truth now or because of how long her hair had grown.

It almost sounded silly to think that all those times he thought Aza was pretty to be a man, her features too soft and and round instead of sharp and angular. He had been right. Aza's true being was in front of him the entire time and he had been fooled by an assumption. Who really thinks a girl would be forced into the Watch and assimilate herself to it? Was he stupid or was he rightfully wrong? Jon thought himself stupid than fooled. He had two sisters. As much as Arya wore breeches and dirties herself like a boy does. How is he of all people unable to tell the difference from a boy and a girl?

"She finally left the tent." Ygritte surprised him as she walked up to stand at his side. Jon turned to look at her, seeing her blue eyes watching G'Winveer and Aza, who were in conversation. "Goin' t'see her now, Snow?"

Ygritte's interest on what steps he was going to take with Aza puzzled him. A smile was on her face but the look was different in her eyes. Was it pure curiosity or was she unsure of his motives regarding the Summer Islander from this point on? No matter which one, why did she care?

"No," he answered, honestly and simply.

"Why not? Is your bone sad that it could've been in a girl ya thought t' be a boy?" Rolling his eyes, Jon turned around and walked off, wanting to find something better to do with his time. Standing around and sulking about how stupid he was and listening to Ygritte's constant teasing wasn't helping him. It only served to aggravate him and put him a worse mood.

He kept walking, but he could tell Ygritte wasn't done with him yet. She was following him, unable to give him the space that he desired. Ygritte was all about invading his personal space and setting his patience aflame. "Don't know why ya'd be angry that a girl was within ya nest. If ya had girls that can be girls in the Watch then none of ya would be so grumpy."

"We don't have girls in the Watch," he began as he continued to walk forward, "because it is dangerous for them."

"Everywhere and everyone is dangerous to a girl, Jon Snow." Ygritte replied, making his steps slow as she walked a few paces ahead so she could turn to face him. "There's danger here, too. Men try t' steal us all the time, but us free women fight 'em. We'd never let a man steal us so easily. If you Southerners put a sword or a spear in a girl's hand and not some stupid brush and lil' harps to play n' sing then maybe the world won't be so dangerous to girls."

"Not every girl is meant to fight." He thought of Sansa, thinking how a bow or a sword or even a spear would never seem right in her dainty hands. Sansa was meant to be a noble lady, graceful and eloquent; perhaps she'd have the knack for politics and court etiquette or something like that at least. She would have mastered those things had everything went as it was supposed to in King's Landing. Sansa was never meant to think of wars or fight in battles, but with this war going on now… No, Robb would make things right again. He will save their sisters and bring them back home. Back to Winterfell. He has to as King in the North and as their older brother.

"Then every girl ain't meant to live either." Her words kept him still and the look in her eyes were sharp. "You know nothing, Jon Snow."

 **AZA**

G'Winveer had woke her when dawn had came. If things had gone Aza's way, she would've slept half of the morning and not wake until it was completely noon. As Jon stated before, she hated waking up in the mornings. She would kick her feet, hiss her curses, and put the blanket over her head to muffle out the noise of someone waking her. "If you don't wake up then you won't get anythin' to eat. If Tormund sees ya sinkin' ya teeth into somethin' you didn't help bring, he'll snatch it right outta your hands and eat it." Because she finally had an appetite, she stopped her fighting and got herself dressed into the clothes Dalla arranged for her.

As she left the tent, she saw dawn's shimmering rays over the white, snowy landscape. It gave the snow a golden hue as the sun rose slowly over the horizon. Aza blinked, sighing softly as she felt the nascent rays touch her skin. Just a little touch of warmth was all she would have until the clouds became grey again and the snow would fall leisurely and lightly for hours on end.

"Jon Snow will be huntin' with us." Aza's neutral look became one of slight discomfort. She had been hoping to avoid him some more, but now she would be stuck with him hunting. She was told hunting trips sometimes took a day or two or even more since there were so many Wildlings to feed. The children were the largest in numbers next to the women, and they made sure every child was fed on Mance and Dalla's orders. "Does it make your skin crawl?"

She made it sound like she was disgusted with Jon when really he was probably disgusted with her. "I don't care," Aza said plainly, "He has to eat too, yeah?" G'Winveer was watching her, carefully, trying to see any signs that she was lying. Aza stared back at her, eyes fixed into a nonchalant expression.

Without another word, G'Winveer led the way, Aza following behind her with her eyes looking up at the dawn-colored sky. If she let her mind wander to different things, she wouldn't have to think about how awkward it would be to see Jon right now. She would be seeing him dressed as girl, bindings free, and her hair grown and styled. She hadn't cared about her hair until Dalla took an interest on giving it the brushing it desperately needed.

As they approached the hunting band, Aza did her best to make sure her eyes averted one person in particular. She didn't need the help because she felt the collar of her fur hooded-tunic be pulled up until her feet were dangling off the ground. Her head immediately turned, eyes snapping up to look at who held her in such a position. It was Tormund. His lips broke out into a grin, his eyes studying her face. "No bigger than a little shadowcat yourself and you'll be goin' hunting with us?"

"Put her down, Tormund." G'Winveer had warned him, the spear in her hand pointing directly at him to give him more incentive to obey her warning. "She'll end up hurtin' ya if you keep on pickin' at her."

Before he could say anything, Aza swung her body upwards, giving her enough time to wrap her legs around his thick arm and put it in a tight-locked hold. Bending back, she could feel that the pain of the submission was getting to him because he began to flail his arm like a madman.

With the last flail of his arm, Aza had let him go, falling into the soft comfort of the snow and dusting herself off when she was able to climb back onto her feet. She suspected for Tormund to be angry as he held his undoubtedly pain-laced arm. Instead, she saw that he was smiling. His smile was big and wide, but mostly, it was idiotic. At least to her it was. "I told Mance she's dangerous." Rolling his shoulder of the arm she nearly broken, he kept his eyes fixated on hers. "I'd like t'see the man that dares to steal her. She'll kill him."

"Nobody is goin' to steal me." Aza narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brows. "And you're right, I will kill him. So if anyone is open to try, just know you'll die by my hands." Her eyes looked around at the Wildling men and then back at Tormund. "Don't lift me by the collar again or else I'll tear your arm off your shoulder. I'm not a child and I'm not an animal."

"I like threats, Girl Crow. I 'specially like them when I know someone will live up to them." Her lips formed a grin, entertained by him and somewhat approving that he took her seriously. He was crazy and not the touched in the head kind, but the one who liked danger kind of crazy. "You've finally joined us, Snow." Aza didn't dare bother to turn around and face him, she kept herself standing right where she was before looking at G'Winveer from the corner of her eyes. "The group is here. Let's get on the trail." His blue eyes looked away from Jon and then down at her, "Don't stray too far, Girl Crow. You lose the trail, you lose your life."

"Aye." She nodded, understanding what he meant. They began their way down the snowy trail that was filled with rocks but gave clear passage through the thicket of trees. The walk was filled with conversation, mostly the Wildlings speaking to each other. Tormund was the loudest in the group with his laugh probably able to scare away any of the animals that were curious of the foreigners that that came across their once quiet homes. Aza, however, was bothered by the fact she could feel someone staring at her. Her brown eyes looked left to see not too far away, Jon was looking at her. She hated the way their eyes met because the look in his eyes were always replaced by the look he gave her last. Her lips pried apart to say something, but Ygritte came walking up to his side. She began talking to him about whatever it is Ygritte could invest in conversation with him.

Out of warning or perhaps out of curiosity, Val had told her that Ygritte had her eyes on Jon. _"He's a pretty man, Girl Crow. Most girls will want him in their beds and I am no different from most girls when it comes t' pretty men."_ At first Aza wasn't sure _why_ it should bother her. Jon Snow was pretty, she knew that more than anyone, and of course some girls like their men pretty while others like their rough-hewn. Everyone had their types and Jon Snow had the power to make most women instantly swoon just by his looks alone. Idiots, she thought them to be. He was a broody virgin and had no idea how to please a woman. These Wildling women would be in for a shock once they knew that he had never lain with a woman before. Though, Aza had to wonder if that would just make them eager to teach him.

 _Why did it bother her so much?_

Why did it bother her that girls would drool and vie for the tiniest slivers of his attention? Why did it bother her that she sometimes caught Jon Snow smiling or laughing while he spoke to Ygritte? Why did it bother her that Val even said herself that she'd invite him to her bed if he was willing? Why must she steel herself from the rage that bubbles deep inside her whenever she thinks about things like that? Why did her heart ache at the idea of Jon Snow being smitten with another woman? _A woman that isn't her_.

Pursing her lips, Aza brought her gloved thumb in-between her teeth. She was feeling the need to bite her nails, something she hadn't felt in so long. She wasn't bored, she was nervous and for what? She couldn't very well understand. There was nothing she could do to let out these frustrations. It would be wiser to take it out on the game that they would be hunting.

The shadows of the trees were dark and voluminous the further they went down the trail. Her eyes looked around to remember the place if she were to get lost. The trees felt like passive protectors of what she could consider a peaceful place. She could hear birds, not the ones that chirp but the ones that squawk and screech in the cold air. She missed those birds that chirped, tweeted, and warbled incessantly. Those birds reminded her of the South where they would fly across a brilliant blue sky that stretched on forever with the sun beaming down gloriously.

They eventually went past a lake that had been hardened by the sharp and unforgiving cold that was the nature of the North. It had an icy frost, the translucent water was smooth and solid, which showed potential of it once being a warm and crisp lake.

"Aza." She stopped walking, almost like it had been a command that compelled her to stop right in her tracks. "We need to talk."

Slowly, she turned her body to face Jon, whose hair was whipping in the sudden cold wind that greeted them for the first time this morning. "You want to talk to me?" Looking down at her feet, she shuffled them against the snow because she was too afraid to meet his face. "I didn't think you'd ever want to speak to me again." When she didn't hear him say anything after asking that, she found herself sighing. "I'm still of the Watch. I'm not going to turn into a Wildling, if that's what you're afraid of." Looking back towards the Wildlings that were just a little further ahead of them, she finally met his eyes. "I never wanted to be of the Watch, but they are my people. You're still my brother just as Sam and the rest of our friends are. As free as the Wildlings are, they're not mine. The Watch is mine."

"I never doubted that." Aza was relieved to hear him say that. She was sure that Jon would suspect that she would freely join the Wildlings now that her secret was out and because she'd be more free here than she was at the Watch. Since he knew she swore to vows she didn't even want, she believed that he would see this as the golden opportunity for her to escape. "What I wanted to say is—"

The both of them went still at the sudden roar of an animal nearby. The hunting band had stopped their walking too, heads swiveling around the find the source of the sound. "Sounds like a snow bear," said Tormund. "You don't wanna run into that."

"A snow bear?" she echoed, inquisitive to what such an animal was. "Are they like most bears?"

"They're white and are said to be taller than most men. Some say that they are almost or even taller than the Mountain," Jon explained to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her along in rushed pace. Her eyes widened at the feel of his hand clutching hers so desperately. Her eyes had become big, staring up at him with her mouth ajar. He must've feared that the snow bear was uncomfortably close since he wouldn't hold her hand for any other reason, she thought. Not thinking more about something infantile as hand-holding, she looked around in efforts to catch sight of the fearsome animal.

"We ought to catch one, yeah?" Tormund's eager smile was visible to her while Jon looked at her as if she had lost her mind. It hadn't surprised her since he gave her that exact look plenty of times. In fact, she was so used to such an expression coming across his face more than she was used to anything else. It almost made her feel happy to see that slightest piece of normality between them after the exposure of her secret.

Tormund turned to face her. "You want to tackle a snow bear, Girl Crow? Where's your fear? Did you leave it back at Castle Black where your other Crow friends rest their lil' heads?"

"You're not catching a snow bear, Aza." Sounding like a father lecturing their child, Jon's grip on her wrist became so tight that she nearly winced. "It's too dangerous."

"She must be your woman, Crow." With wide eyes, she looked up at the tall, grinning Wildling. "What man holds a woman back from doin' what she wants unless she's his?"

"I'm not his!" Aza practically shouted, unsure of what was fueling her anger. Was it Tormund's words or because she was afraid Jon would gladly point out that she wasn't his? For some reason, she would rather not hear him say it. "…And he isn't mine. Nobody tells me what to do." Pulling her hand from his grip, Aza felt like she could breathe normally again. The warmth of his hand lingered a few seconds more until all she recognized was the feel of the leather glove against her skin again.

Tormund said nothing and his smile was nothing short of mischievous. He walked ahead of them like he was giving them time to speak alone and she wasn't sure what his objective was. Aza hadn't like that she had been so unaware of his intentions. After watching him join some of the other Wildlings that still were behind from the shock of the snow bear, Aza looked back at Jon. "If I want to hunt a snow bear then I'll hunt it."

"I'm not going to lose you because you're crazy enough to chase a snow bear!" He was yelling at her, but she hadn't felt the force of it. What he was yelling at her for almost made her want to smile because he was yelling at her because he cared and not because he was incredibly angry like he was before. Aza's stomach felt light, almost like it was filled with sweet air and not the kind when you haven't eaten for hours. It was a different kind of feeling, foreign but pleasant.

In spite of the airy feeling, the way her heart felt like it was beating rapidly, she could not stop her words. She could not put a muzzle on that thing of hers that names itself pride. "I'm not yours to lose." The voice she suddenly found again had said those words to him and had trouble meaning it entirely. Swallowing what felt like regret coming up her throat, her eyes quickly looked away before stalking off into the distance where she had heard the bear's cry come from.

It didn't bother her that she could hear Jon trudging right behind her. Normally, she would've been thought that he was only following her because he thought of her incapable of doing this on her own. Instead, she could see it was because he was afraid she'll lose her life doing something this risky. "You don't have to follow me." Her voice was soft, not holding an ounce of anger or annoyance that it had before.

"I'm not doing it because I don't have to." He kept facing forward, paying attention to their surroundings and the path ahead. "I'm doing it because I want to." Aza blinked twice in her surprise before snorting, smiling childishly when she thought he couldn't see it.

The further they went, the more a great mountain had loomed before them. She tilted her head back, looking at the breathlessly striking crevices of it that were a cold grey. The peaks were crowned with a headdress of ice as they continued walking without a word passing between them.

"Do you see anything?" Jon asked, his eyes squinting when the strong wind came again as he looked around the area they stood in.

Aza shook her head, sighing. "No, I don't see a thing." Looking down at the snow, she bent her knees to see if she could find any trackings. "I see rabbit tracks, but I don't see anything large enough to be a bear's."

"Let's find the rabbits and we'll see if we find the bear while we're at it." She was unsure if he was thinking that strategically or slowly trying to ease her into giving up on the snow bear. Aza eyed him suspiciously before standing up again, fixing the sword on her back before following behind him. At his hip was Longclaw, but across his chest and back was a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He was multi-talented that way. Aza couldn't shoot an arrow even if it someone paid her to, which was saying something since the people of Summer Isles mastered archery more than they mastered a sword. The bow was just too time consuming to her and she liked to be in the forefront of the battle and not too far away so she can make sure she didn't get herself killed just to shoot an arrow.

Holding his arm out in front of her, she stopped walking as he bent his knees and took off the bow and pulled out an arrow from the quiver. Aza bent down with him, taking a few steps closer as he drew the arrow back and closed one eye as he aimed. "A rabbit?" she whispered.

"Two of them," he answered her quietly before he let the arrow whiz through the air and pierce both of the small game right through their little necks. Aza didn't enjoy hunting, she'd rather the animal already be dead and cooked on her plate. She was a bit soft on the weaker animals, but beasts like Ghost and snow bears didn't earn her sympathy because sometimes they preyed on humans themselves. Speaking of Ghost, Aza was surprised that she hadn't seen the white wolf in quite a while. Where did he go? Was he safe? As much as she hated to admit it, she missed having the wolf around.

Jon slung the bow over his shoulder and went towards the dead rabbits while she stayed behind, keening her ears to a sound she wasn't sure she actually heard. Turning around, she had saw nothing but snow and trees. "Did you hear something?" She heard him ask and she turned back around to give him a shake of her head. "Let's keep going. This isn't going to be enough."

Nodding, Aza followed behind him quietly while letting her eyes roam the place to find anything that could be feasible to kill. While Jon was roping the rabbits together, Aza was temporarily his eyes, pulling his fur sleeve whenever he was about to walk into a rock or strayed too far from her side as he was concentrating on what he was doing.

"You were going to tell me something earlier," Aza mentioned, still curious as to what he was going to say still. She felt halfway afraid that he was going to say something she wouldn't like. Whatever it was, she felt he had the right to tell her whether it would hurt her feelings or not.

 **JON**

He hated how stubborn she was. He hated how she basically dragged them out in the middle of nowhere because her hot-blooded self felt the need to conquer defeating a snow bear. This small girl, who could swing a sword better than half the men of the Night's Watch, just had a penchant for trouble and he was always around to see it or be part of it. It wasn't always by choice either, but because he was her friend or because he was simply around when it all happened. Aza was trouble, Jon was very well aware of that, but he still cared about her. A smarter man would've fled her side had she been man or no and yet Jon wasn't always considered smart when it came to people. He was the foolish one of them all, following her because he couldn't stand the idea of her dying out here alone because she was too wild for own good.

As he turned to face her, ready to say the words he wanted to tell her before, his eyes caught the sight of the beast Aza had been looking for. Right before him, as he looked from over her head due to the stark difference in height, was a snow bear. As if it knew that he was aware of its presence, its sharp teeth were exposed in an angry fashion. The teeth that it bared them were sharp, like white daggers hanging from inside a dark and moist cave ready to tear apart anything that could fit between them. Even if it couldn't, Jon was sure that its teeth would make anything small enough for the beast to feast on.

With its paws rooted to the ground, it seemed as if it was waiting for any sudden movements from them. If they were to suddenly run now, he was sure the bear was bound to give chase. If they kept standing there, the bear would surely be impatient and come after them anyway. "Aza, I need you to listen to me. Just listen. Don't argue with me and just listen to what I have to say."

"I'm listenin'." Her patience was such a glorious virtue right now. It was rare most days and he wasn't sure why she was actually listening to him for once, but he wouldn't question it. He'll deem it a miracle and leave it there.

"A snow bear is right behind us and we're going to run," he told her slowly, carefully, making sure she heard what he said and didn't mistake him from saying anything else.

"Why would we run?" Aza asked, sounding frustrated and ready to turn herself around to see the beast in all its glory behind her. "We're hunting it, yeah?"

"We're not hunting it." Swallowing the fear that was climbing up his throat, he slowly went to reach for her hand until he had a firm grasp on it. One that she couldn't fight herself out of like he knew she would. "It's hunting us."

He ran, pulling her along as they ran across the thick snow and into woods with sparse trees. The snow bear sprang away as fast as Ghost, even faster than Grey Wind as Jon last remembered Robb's direwolf. The bears forepaws sank into the snow with such a harshness that you couldn't escape the sound of it no matter how far you were from it. He looked back and then down at Aza, whose eyes were wide in terror as she aimed to grab the handle of her sword. Before she got the idea to fight it, he yanked her arm, pulling her forward in their sprint, and her hand was forcibly slipped away from the handle.

The behemoth-like animal was gaining in on them and Jon's breath was laboring from how fast and how far they were running away from it. He would eventually run out of breath, but before that, he had to make sure Aza was safe. Sliding to a halt, Jon began readying the bow and drawn back an arrow. He kept his nerves steady so the bow and arrow didn't shake in his grip as he aimed it at the bear's head. As soon as he felt like he had the right timing, he fired the arrow and its sharp arrowhead embedded itself dead center of the snow bear's head, coating some of its pristine, white fur red with blood. The beast stood on its hind legs, shouting out in anguish from the pain before slamming its forepaws in the ground again.

The the force of its paws against the ground managed to shake the trees, ridding them of snow that coated their branches and falling into the blanket of snow on the ground. The birds that once rested in the trees tops had flew away in fear, making him wish he had wings and could've flown the both of them out of here.

Jon readied another arrow, hoping he could hit it in its eye, blinding it, before they began running again. He wanted to make sure their breaths were caught and they wouldn't need to stop again until they were able to find some place safe. Perhaps a cave or give themselves enough distance where the snow bear could eventually give up on them. Aza unsheathed her sword, readying herself to attack. "Fly an arrow again and I'll try to cut it down." She foolishly planned in such a rush, possibly from the adrenaline that was beating wildly through them. Aza was sounding so confident and sure about this plan that could easily go wrong in several different ways.

"Are you mad?!" he shouted. "If it hits you then—"

"I won't let it hit me!" she shouted back at him as if she had the right to be angry. As if she didn't understand the severity of it all. "You have to make sure every arrow counts and you know for damn sure an arrow or two isn't going to end it."

Setting his jaw, Jon looked back at the bear that was preparing to charge at them again as it tried to shake the arrow from out of its head. Jon only hoped that by it trying to attempt that, that the arrow sunk itself deeper into its flesh. "On my word."

"Fine." The wooden bow creaked as he pulled the bowstring as far as he could with his arrow. Once he fired it, this arrow had managed to hit the bear on the forearm, making it go on its hind legs again to howl from the pain just like it did before.

"Now!" Jon watched Aza sprinted forward, her sword's tip sliding against the snow as she ran and with one sharp spin, the blade had created a thin, red line across the bear's stomach. Shocked that she had managed to actually get close enough to hit it. His state of shock quickly morphed into horror when the white limb of the beast swung and stuck her side, making her tumble across the snow and eventually hit her back harshly against the hard trunk of a tree.

Aza laid still on the snow-covered ground, making his eyes wide in fear that she may not lay unconscious but had died from the force of the blow and the tree instead. "Aza!" he screamed her name, praying to the old gods that she would rise from the ground and show him that she was still alive. "Aza!" he called her name again, more desperate than before. As he moved to run to her, Jon fell on his back as the snow bear was mounted atop of him, its sharp jaws stretched open as its hot breath hit his face from its ghastly roar.

Thanking the gods that his arms weren't pinned underneath its paws, Jon pushed the bow upwards and let the bear's mouth stay ajar as it tried to sink its teeth into him. The wooden body of the bow had managed to stall it, but he wasn't foolish enough to think it would keep that up for long. He also wasn't confident enough to think that he could keep one arm steady to keep pushing it farther away from him while reaching down for his sword. It was too risky and yet it was the risk he was going to have to take before the bow snapped in half under the weight of the bear's sharp teeth and strong jaws. Using his left arm to keep the bear at bay, Jon reached down with his right arm and hand to grab Longclaw's handle in efforts to hurriedly unsheathe it. Pieces of the bow's wood had broke off, falling around and on his face. He closed his eyes and turned his head, not wanting to get any of the wooden splints into his eyes.

When he felt Longclaw free of its scabbard, he aimed it so that the sharp end of the sword pierced the thick neck of the snow bear. It took him a while until he could fully shove the Valyrian steel straight through the bear's neck and out the other side as the red, hot blood of the mammal began to bleed all over him, soaking his Wildling furs and half of his face with crimson liquid. The bear's roars became lower and lower until it became quiet and its body limp. With all the strength he could muster, Jon managed to push it off him using the the handle of Longclaw, forcing it to lay on its back at his side. Letting out a long breath of relief, he tried to steady his heart that was pounding too erratically in his chest.

Jon turned his head and gathered handful of snow to wipe the snow bear's blood off his mouth and off his face. He spat some, realizing that some of it had managed to get into his mouth and the taste of it was vile on his tongue. Slowly, he tried to get himself onto his feet, nearly falling in the process as his mind was still rattling from the events and he wanted the fear to erode itself away now that the danger was dead.

When he finally was able to stand, panting still, he immediately broke out into a run, falling and sliding against the snow once he reached the girl who still laid still. It was clear she was unconscious, that she wouldn't wake up by him simply shouting her name, and so Jon gathered the girl in his arms to find a safe place.

 **AZA**

Her eyes, that were leaden with sleep, slowly fluttered open. They still had the blur that comes with waking up, but it soon cleared away once she had to strain her eyes to see into the dimly lit darkness that surrounded her. In her ear was the sound of a strong heartbeat, pounding rhythmically and easily trying to lull her back into her slumber. She could fall back asleep to the sound of it since it was as sweet as a lullaby, sweeter than a bard's song that she would never admit she enjoyed. It was already making her tired eyes close again, nearly succumbing to sleep again. The only thing that stopped her was the crippling fear of where she was and what happened. Her mind had suddenly been flooded with memories of her and Jon facing that hungry snow bear.

Her eyes snapped all the way open, violently. Her breathing beginning to quicken as she lolled her head back, causing immediate discomfort. She realized she must've slept for a while in one position and got herself a cramp in her neck. Rolling her shoulders to try to ease the pain, she came to feel that she was locked in a pair of arms, swaddled by warmth. Her eyes immediately looked up to clearly see the face of Jon Snow, illuminated by the orange glow of the nearby fire. He was asleep, at least she assumed so. His eyes were closed and his breathing was light. His back was leaning against what looked to be the wall of a cave in efforts to keep him sitting up.

Did they escape from the snow bear? She couldn't remember what happened after she managed to cut its stomach. It didn't die, she remembered that much. "You're awake." Jon's deep voice startled her, but she saved face. She moved her head to look up at him again, seeing his grey eyes peering down at her with worry.

"I'm awake…" She tried to match his relief or at least make it seem that she was fine. It ended up coming out sarcastic, which wasn't what she intended.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, fixing his arm so that she could sit up a little bit more in his lap. She was grateful because the cramp in her neck was worsening until now.

Aza closed her eyes for a few seconds, still feeling drowsy and confused. Her mind wanted her to wake up completely, but her body wanted more rest. "Like my insides are on fire and I want to sleep again," she told him honestly, knowing that hiding the truth wouldn't do them any good.

With every breath she had taken, her ribs let out a throbbing pain that continuously built up and made her want to shout. The only reason why her ribs should feel this way was due to the blow the snow bear gave her. Its harsh paw hit her side like a solid fist and then her back was incredibly sore from the hard and strong bark of the tree. That, she realized, was what made her blackout from the impact. "I told you it was too dangerous to hunt a snow bear."

Aza didn't want to hear that. She didn't want him rubbing in her face that she made a stupid mistake and endangered them both. Although she didn't want to hear it, she knew he had every right to be upset with her right now. Aza said nothing, letting her eyes fully open again to see the expression she knew for sure was anger. There was a mixture of anger there, but there was a small smile on his face, too. Was he angry or not? She didn't understand.

"You were right, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? That you were right along, Jon Snow. I was stupid, careless." Her mouth was incredibly dry. She had to keep licking her lips to try to stall the need for a cool drink of fresh water. "Are you happy now?"

"I'm happy you're alive," he said, making her bite down her lip to suppress a smile. "You never let anyone protect you. Why?"

"Because I'm the one that does the protecting," Aza sighed after she answered him. She hated when he was like this. When he wanted to draw out every word and feeling from her, wanting to make her so bare before him that she literally had no secrets to keep to herself. He always wanted to know everything; her feelings, her thoughts, and why she did certain things. He was digging and digging and she was always afraid he was going to hear or find things out about her that he wouldn't like. He already found out she was a liar. She needed to pretty up the rest of her flaws so that maybe he could see her like he used to. Aza just wanted things to go back to how they were before her secret had been unveiled to him. She wanted them to be close friends again. She wanted them happy with each other and not this awkwardness and lack of trust that wedged itself between them and was slowly killing her.

"Were you protecting me when you hid from me that you were a girl?" Aza averted his gaze, wanting to avoid this conversation entirely. "Why did you lie to me about that?" She was cornered, weak. She had no option to run and she had no way of changing this conversation without it being obvious she wanted to avoid it. Aza had to answer him now. She literally had no other choice.

With a shake of her head, she let go of her pride for the sake of their friendship that was literally as brittle as Hobb's pie crusts. "I've been keeping this lie for years. I didn't just keep it from you, I've been tellin' everyone that I was a boy since I was three-and-ten. That man I told you about, who taught me everything I know? Hadrian. He told me to lie about me being a girl. He said I would be much safer if I did. He said to me that nobody is safe, but a girl is even more unsafe than a boy is. He told me to keep that secret for as long as I can."

"Keeping this secret was unsafe, Aza." He shook his head, incredulously, like he couldn't believe that this was her excuse. "This isn't the South! You couldn't roam and do whatever you wanted like you once did." She started to feel small again, she always did whenever he brought up valid points in the heat of his anger. It was like she had no choice but to listen about her stupid mistakes over and over. "You were in the Night's Watch. A good half of the men in the Night's Watch are rapers! Most of them were getting frustrated because they haven't been with or seen a woman in months or even longer! If they knew you were a girl…" Jon screwed his eyes shut in frustration, like he still couldn't believe how careless she had been. "I wouldn't have been able to protect you. You could've been raped or worse, you could've been killed."

"I'm sorry…" Would an apology fix it? Would he care to accept it? Aza wasn't sure what to say or if any words could justify her reasons.

"You have to let other people protect you." With wide eyes, Aza could feel his arms lock further around her, making her body feel like it was molding into his own. His embrace was so comforting that she could barely breathe because she feared she might wake up and it would've been a silly dream that she would question in the morning. "Let me protect you."

Her heart fluttered, at his words and at the feeling of her body pressed against his. Almost instantly, Aza sunk into his warmth, appreciative of the simple gesture that was his hug. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip that was quivering due to the tears that had welled up in her eyes, she found herself smiling once her lips felt they had been bruised and oppressed enough.

As much as she tried to hold it in, the tears of salt water had started falling down one after another without any signs of stopping. The world and Jon had turned into a blur as the emotions slammed through her until she was fully embracing the feeling. It had been so long since she last cried, openly and messily. She wasn't even able to comprehend why she was crying now. She was happy. She wasn't sad or angry, but she was happy. She was happy that someone wanted to protect her. That Jon Snow wasn't angry because she was girl or more angry at the secret itself, he was angry because she didn't share the burden of this secret with him. That he wanted to keep her safe, and that's something nobody had ever wanted to do for her. Aza never had someone who wanted to protect her because they wanted to and without gain. She never had someone come to care for her so much that they wanted to make sure she was alive and safe.

Muffled sobs began to wrack her chest as Jon pulled her further against him, letting her break her promise to her mother for the first time in years.

* * *

 **A/N** : Even more reviews than last time! I love the responses! I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than how the other two were, but I made it up to you guys with the end, didn't I? I actually wrote some good, fluffy quality time between Aza and Jon! I hope you all enjoyed it even though Aza was extremely reckless in this chapter. You're definitely allowed to be angry with her. I was angry writing it, but I feel like that Aza's lack of fear surely gets her in trouble... _serious_ trouble. _A lot._

lilnightmare17: I hope you're happy about this chapter! I fulfilled your wishes.

sydneylovestarz: That is literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me. I'm so happy my fic has made you feel this way! I love how you explained it! It was what I hope to accomplish! I know slow burns can be a real turn off for people, but I wanted people to believe it through their friendship first. Ygritte will play a huge part, but what kind of part she plays? I can't tell you. I swear, I'm grinning from ear to ear. You're a beautiful person and this review was beautiful.

CupcakeLoopy: I hope you're happy about Tormund and Aza's relationship thus far! I think Tormund likes any girl that kicks ass. A special shoutout to brienne!

january1815: Your wish is my command! No, thank you for this sweet review!

Rimms: I hope you're happy how Jon turned out feeling about it.

Guest: That last chapter was a rollercoaster wasn't it? Jon stewing. I love it.

xVentressx: I would rather die to have my secret exposed like that. I'd just fall to floor and die.

masterdestroyer3245: I hope you loved that line she says "I'm the one that does the protecting". I think some people have a hard time wanting to right a headstrong character because some people believe that Jon and Robb or whoever is supposed to be the tough one and their girls are supposed to just let them do all the fighting and rescuing. Some people get really angry if you let any of them be perceived weak or unable to hand EVERY situation they come across. Jon is technically still soft in heart at the beginning of the series. I just hate the way he says "i'm tired of fighting" because he's literally exhausted with world by season six. This time he literally has someone by his side who can fight alongside him throughout the way. Gender bender stories are my favorite too! I don't seem to find them enough in the GoT section. I need some more!

Guest: It's not a dumb question! I'm pretty sure other people are curious about this too. Aza is pronounced as AH-ZUH.

kate langdon: I see Jaza has stuck with you, even though Joza is a good one too.

Someone: You're not crazy and you will be seeing more Aza/Tormund as this story progresses because I love that Giantsbane with all my heart.

Minstorai: There's nothing I can say to describe how much I enjoyed writing Jon in that chapter as well as Aza vs Craster. I was actually deciding that Mormont purposely told Jon not to because he knew Jon would. I wanted to add something special that Mormont knew Jon would've been the wiser person to explain things to because he knows Aza wouldn't listen to him and hate him even more considering she'll believe he's allowing Craster to get away with too much. Like, she still believes that, but she wouldn't have been as calm as she was with Jon. Yes! I want more Edd and Aza time... I think Edd is funny and he tends to get under Aza's skin a lot because he's so depressing and likes picking on people at certain times. But her idea of love is "are your enemies my enemies?" because she can't love someone without sharing enemies. I'm really glad you love her and I gush at your reviews! That she lives dangerously and likes to fight everyone? I can see Jon getting tired because she literally is a small girl who wants to literally lay your hands on everyone. I hope you enjoyed her and Tormund's interactions this chapter! There will be plenty more. I would definitely love her as Val! She has a fierce look about her. Val is no shy girl and definitely fights. She enters the wilds by herself. Oh, it's definitely too late to bring Dalla since she isn't around at this point in the books. Val, however, she should be on the show and so should Tormund's daughter, Munda! Since I think his wife isn't around anymore? I know she doesn't play a huge role, Val, however, gets along with Jon really well and flirts too or at least Val flirts with him. I guess the show doesn't want more wildling women in Jon's storyline anymore since it's kinda easy to see who they are gonna set him with soon. Although, the show might prove wrong, you never know. I'm dying at red-heads for everybody! You get wildling and you get a wildling! Meanwhile Aza and Jon are L'Oreal models with their luxurious hair and gaining all the favors and attention!

Guest: I'm certainly not the best! There are people waaaaaay greater than I am. I'm happy you think that way though.

fortheloveofkats: Thank you. I', happy love it.

Shika93: I saw you took the time to give several reviews. Thank you.

SheWalksWithEase: I hope you're still on for the ride. It's gonna get pretty more intense soon!


	9. Chapter 8: She, Who Wants for Nothing

**JON**

How long has it been? Jon couldn't quite remember when was the last time he gave someone what was called a pickaback. Where arms were around his neck for security and his arms securing the back of the knees of the person on his back. Only this time, it wasn't so completely innocent as when he done it last. These arms weren't Arya's, who he could quickly recall was the last one he had given one to. Right now it was a girl just shy of a year younger than he was, whose big brown eyes were looking at him as they walked through the high inches of snow. It took everything for him not to pay attention of all the warmth her body was radiating or even the feel of her breasts pressed against his back that could still be felt through the layers of thick tunics and even through the furs. He was still a man and a virgin nonetheless. Even if she was his friend, it was hard not to notice these things. It was even harder to not even be aroused by such closeness. Jon deemed his arousal solely on the fact that this was the closest he had ever been with a girl and not because it was Aza. It was much more settling to believe that he was attracted to the body and not its owner.

"You smell awful," Aza bluntly said in the only way he knows she can. "You really, _really_ need a bath."

"You don't smell so sweet yourself," he replied back, lacking just as much courtesy as she did. Jon usually minded his words, mostly because everyone he used to speak to was a person who properly deserved his respect. He could speak any way he wanted with her; angrily, informally, and whatever was in between or the extremities of each form. There were still some things he kept to himself, but that's because they were confusing even to his own mind. As of late, Jon was more than confused about a lot of things pertaining the Summer Islander. If Sam were around, he'd feel like he could gain another perspective of things that weren't his own.

He heard her snort, entertained by his response. "But I don't smell like snow bear blood and sweat."

Jon peered at her from corner of his eyes, seeing that smirk she wears when she's thinks she has won an argument. "What's your excuse then? As you said, you weren't the one drenched in blood." And just like that, her smile becomes the reverse and it's his turn to feel the need to boast. How could he not? He outwitted her so quickly.

He wasn't supposed to notice her sniffing, but she did it so loudly that he'd have to be deaf in order to not be aware of what she was doing. She buried her nose towards one armpit and then the other, frowning even deeper with her nose wrinkled in disgust. "…Well." As if she could properly explain herself, he watched the way she bit down on her plump bottom lip before trying again. "Well… I…" Jon couldn't help but smile at the way she seemed so completely tongue-tied. "Just shut up! We have to look for the snow bear and take it back. That's the important thing so pay attention to where you're goin', yeah."

Breathing out a chuckle, Jon shook his head and kept his eyes trained ahead. She did have somewhat of a point. They had to find the snow bear or else he'd fear something else would find it before they did. Animals would surely be thankful of finding such a beast already dead and ready to be eaten without a fight. "Why did you want to hunt a snow bear so badly in the first place?"

"Val likes snow bear fur. She likes the white of it and stitches it onto her clothes," Aza started to explain, not one bit hesitant like she usually was when it came to explaining her motives and reasoning. She spoke freely to him now, like she hadn't mind sharing anything, which was rarer than he realized. "It'll feed more children and the fur Val doesn't use can go to the children for blankets and one of those blankets is for Dalla's baby. I want to give her something to show my thanks."

"You sound like you like them." As touched as he was at her generosity—the same generosity that nearly gotten them killed—he was more worried of her getting herself attached to the Wildlings. If Qhorin's words proved true, Jon wasn't sure what he would have to do in order to remind her where her loyalties lied or worse, if she chose to abandon the Watch in favor of them.

"I do like them," Aza stated truthfully, unwrapping her arms around his neck so her hands could rest on his shoulders, gripping them to give herself something to hold on to. "They're nice and warm. Strange at times and loud too, but they're nice. They don't trust us and I'm sure the snow bear will earn it for us, Jon. I told you my blood is black. You're my brother and I won't ever forget that. We'll have to fight them one day, but for now, I think I'm 'llowed to like them."

"You know what happens when you like someone." Sighing, he shook his head. "You'll want to protect them."

"Do you think I like the Wildlings more than I like you?" Jon didn't dare move or even breathe. He was frozen in the same spot. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as her question left him rather stunned. "I like you more than the Wildlings." The tenderness in her voice made the beating only become louder, nearly loud enough to make him afraid she could hear his cacophonous thrumming heart. "I like Sam, Rowan, Pyp, Grenn, and even Edd more than the Wildlings." And just like that, his thumping heart feels like it went still before suffering a sharp twinge and suddenly goes back to normal again in such a slow and agonizing way. "I'd protect you all against the Wildlings."

"I know," he told her softly while disappointed and simultaneously relieved. "You need not remind me of what I already know." Hoisting her up just a little so she doesn't slide too far down, Jon began to walk again, still clearly remembering the spot where the snow bear's body still laid. "I know your back is still sore, but you'll have to help me move the bear back to the camp. I can't do that and carry you all at once."

She groaned, lip curling into a look of annoyance as she looked off into the distance ruefully. "I suppose this is what I deserve for hunting a snow bear, huh? A nearly broken back and a long walk to drag somethin' thrice my size leagues away."

He would've rubbed a little salt a bit more into her open wound, but Jon couldn't find it in himself to do it. For once, she was remorseful and apologetic about doing something she swore was right. It was a learning lesson, and he hoped she'd be reminded from now on that half-assed plans don't always end how she wants them to.

In those woods where the trees are old, stripped of youth and greatly spaced from one another, Jon saw the large body of the snow bear he killed. It looked untouched, like nothing had dug into its flesh to feast upon its innards. Once he was close enough, Jon felt Aza pat his shoulder, signaling for him to put her down onto her feet. With a slight bend of his knees, he heard her feet fall into the thick snow and turned himself to see her lightly hitting her fist into the lower-middle of her back with her face screwed up in pain.

Since his rope was used to tie the rabbits, they would have to use hers. "We should get a branch thick and strong enough to help us carry it on our shoulders. That'll be the easier way." She nodded, agreeing with his plan. "I'll check over here and you over there." He hadn't moved yet, he watched as she went towards the eastern side of the forest. He wondered if his words truly resonated with her earlier.

 _"Let me protect you."_

Words never came easy to him, but those four words did. Those four words held such a sudden impact that Jon was unsure if it could last. He meant his words and they moved her, reduced her to tears and even allowing him to embrace her and she in return. Those words could've meant the world to her, but they wouldn't change her. She was the kind of person that only believes in getting strong; help is a weakness, being weak is the worst thing a person could be. What he should've said is "stop becoming strong". He already knew what she would've said back to him because he knows her so well now. _"How can I live in this world without being strong?"_ It should've frightened him how much he knew her now.

"What's got you thinkin' so much?" She brought him out of his head space, her lips began curling up in a smile as she dropped the rather heavy timber to the ground. "Don't tell me you were standing around all in your head while I was doing all the work?" Her smile is gone now and her brown eyes are burning his face. It's scary how easy her temper flares without warning.

"I was thinking about Castle Black." It was a lie, sort of. Every once in awhile he did wonder if Lord Commander Mormont sent men to look for them or either went back to Craster's Keep before heading on back to Castle Black. "I wonder if the Lord Commander has decided to return."

She believed his lie, her anger dissipating from her face as she nodded absently. "I wonder how Sam's doing."

Jon wondered about that too, but he trusted that Samwell would do fine; he was protected. "Probably still going with the plan to steal Gilly away from Craster." He eyed her with warning. "He could die. I hope you remember that."

"He won't and neither will she." Her confidence, somewhat damaged, has come back with a vengeance. "Sam and Gilly will escape just fine and when they do, I'm gonna rub it all in your face!" Aza marched towards him, so much so that he could see her breath burning a path through the frigid air before his very eyes. "I'm clever if you hadn't noticed. I was clever enough to fool you, the Old Bear, and all the Night's Watch for as long as I did. Don't take me lightly, Jon Snow."

Most girls voices are like songs, melodious tones and timbres that would oft make a man listen to the sound, even if the words didn't make much sense. Most girls wear their hair like long crowns because hair to a noble girl is her treasure; the longer the better because it shows your high nobility. Most girls would understand that the space between a man and a woman was supposed to be substantial for whispers occur and her honor and intentions are questioned. Aza broke all those rules and lived her life not as an example of women, but as an example of herself.

Aza's voice is smooth, like black water; somewhere between light and deep; shallow yet holding a depth that was hard to measure. Her hair, a soft brown, reminded him the rich soils he once saw in the pots in the glass garden. It looks black in the shadows, but when the sun finds a way to shine through the clouds, it looks gentle in its light. It's shoulder-length now, curling lazily at the ends, but he briefly remembers of her mentioning about cutting it again. She found her cropped hair so much more favorable because long hair isn't a treasure to her. Aza doesn't care about physical distance or closeness, she doesn't care about gossips and scandals that would occur due to her actions. Such a girl would be considered rotten and one that high ladies forbid their daughters and sons from nearing, but to Jon… Aza is Aza. What that means to him leaves him smiling at her now with his eyes roaming every inch of her face, catching the way the breeze blows her hair and how the Summer Isles lilt is heavy in her voice.

"Why are you lookin' at me like that?" Aza raised a brow, neck craned to look at him because everyone she speaks to that isn't a child, she has to look up in order for proper eye contact. Aza looks you in the eyes when she speaks and would like for you to do same whether you're uncomfortable or not.

"I'm not looking at you like anything." To save face, he pretends he doesn't understand what she means. He can't just openly tell her that he's admiring her because she'll only laugh at him or brag. Neither one was what he wanted to hear and neither one would be heard because he'd keep those thoughts all to himself.

"Liar." Sucking her teeth, Aza swiftly turned away from him and walks to the snow bear with a rapid pace. "C'mon, let's tie it up before the shadowcats realize supper was close by all along."

 **AZA**

"For the love of the Seven…" Her breathing was fast, making her feel as though she couldn't refill her lungs with enough air. Aza slowly lowered herself to the ground, sinking herself into the thick snow while cupping her knees with her hands as she tried to catch her breath. Jon knelt beside her, offering his hand but she shook her head, "I'm alright, I'm just tired…" Her back had a dull ache, blooming with a new taste of pain with every bend from the strenuous activity. Her shoulder and arms felt like they lost all the strength in them, becoming practically numb with subtle warning. The Wildling camp was just a few feet in front of them, but she didn't feel like she could ever make these last steps.

"You can rest here while I gather Tormund and the others to help us take this thing back to the camp," he offered, sounding hesitant with such a plan. Nothing was out here and she could surely protect herself, no matter how tired and sore she was. Aza knows he is more on the alert of her now because she accepted his protection. She may have not confirmed it with words, but her embrace was enough of a solid answer. Even by accepting such a thing, she did not want Jon Snow to hold her hand whenever she falls. She doesn't want him to think he must constantly look over his shoulder, watching her like an animal does with their youngling. She doesn't want to be his cub nor his little sister. She wants to be his equal just like she was when he thought her to be a boy. Aza wants that more than ever now that her secret has been exposed.

"No, I can make it." Forcing herself back to her feet, Aza tried to fix her expression as she looked up at him, conjuring up a look of new found strength to come across her face. "We're almost there."

"Aza…" He's about to warn her that she's pushing herself, but she's too stubborn to accept that truth. That's all she ever does in life is push herself because if she doesn't then she'll get left behind.

"I'm fine," she insisted, softening the tone in her voice because getting angry relies on too much energy. "Please. I can do it."

He stared at her for a short while, so she did her best to give him the smile he needed to see in order to believe her. Jon hesitated again before fully standing and watching her do the same. Stretching her arms above her, she winded both her arms and shoulders while rolling her neck to hear the sound of cracks. The loud pops and sudden relief was enough to inform her that her body needed a much needed rest once she got back to her tent.

As they walked, going back to their heavy lifting, Aza tilted her head back. Her eyes gazed up at the grey overcast as the first dance of snow began to fall down the sky. How much more can it snow, she wonders. What would happen if it never stopped? How tall would the snow on the ground become if it doesn't feel like ending? Can it only grow so high? Snow still mystified her and entranced her all at once. How could such a beautiful thing be so cold? How could it be deadly too? When she heard of people losing things like fingers and toes to frostbite, she always found herself grimacing and wishing the snow would disappear.

The summit was steep, so she made sure not to rush her steps. She kept a good, marching pace behind Jon despite how her shoulder felt like it was on fire for putting this ridiculous weight back onto it. Switching wouldn't work since both shoulders were equally aching, except her right one was worse off than the left.

"I'll be damned," Tormund's loud voice boomed throughout the air, a grin of his plastered on his face as they kept inching closer to the camp. Wildlings began to gather, a look of surprise on all their faces as she and Jon Snow finally reached them. Aza dropped the timber and tried her best not to slouch because her pride doesn't want to show that she is incredibly weak at the moment. She overworked herself, she could adamantly admit that despite how pathetic it made her feel. "You said you wanted a snow bear and you got one." As if he could see her pain, Tormund's hand, that was about to clasp her shoulder, went to Jon's instead. "How'd you do it?" The way he asked made her crack a smile, especially since he sounded so enthused and wanted to be told of the events in lengthy detail. Aza, however, did not have the strength to appease him entirely.

"Jon killed the bear," Aza admitted, wanting to summarize it all. "…The snow bear was huntin' _us_ more than we were huntin' _it_. It threw me to a tree, taking me out cold, but Jon put his sword in its throat." Aza wasn't going to take credit for killing the snow bear and nor was she going to lie about her part. She observed the way the Wildling men looked at Jon with newfound respect and admiration while he seemed more than a little surprised by the sudden attention. He was earning their trust by a good fold and she knew he needed that more than she did. Women were strong in the Free Folk, but men still found other men a greater threat, especially with the way the women were in awe by Jon's looks and because he's someone from the outside. Right now, they would have no choice but to fully accept him if she had her way. "All your children being fed for as long as the snow bear's meat provides is thanks to Jon Snow. He's a free man of the Free Folk and he nearly died to feed your hungry women and children."

She could tell he wanted to say something, possibly trying to put in a piece in for her but she shook her head. That was a sign for him to take the glory for what he did, she would accept none of it. Tormund looked at her and then at Jon, his smile less playful and a bit more thankful.

Since when did standing feel so difficult? Aza pressed her hands to her knees, feeling like she wanted to crumble down to the snow and lie there. She had never been this exhausted before, but neither had she ever had a snow bear throw her into a tree into unconsciousness. "What's wrong with the Little Crow?" She heard Tormund say, and she wanted to laugh at how concerned he sounded. If only she could see his face, which was too blurry for her to see clearly.

Aza knew she was slowly making it to the ground, but the feel of an arm wrapped around her shoulders alerted her that she was caught. She was caught before meeting the cold snow, "She's exhausted…"

"Let her get her rest."

* * *

It hadn't made sense to her at first when the women invited her to bathe together. Val claimed it was for protection and that their bodies were the same, so there should be no need to be embarrassed. What added more to her discomfort was that the children were brought along as well. Little boys and little girls, all being bathed with the older women. None of them were her kin or her children, so Aza watched the little ones with confusion. G'Winveer walked alongside her, talking about something she can't quite remember. All Aza can properly think about is how Val convinced Jon Snow and Tormund to watch the mouth of the cave and claimed it to be Mance's order. It could've been since Dalla was with them, though Aza had reason to believe Val had done it because she didn't want Jarl following her around and sneaking inside.

Up at the ceiling were crystallized and rocky spears, ones that looked that if they happen to fall then they would immediately pierce through anyone that stood beneath them. At the same time, Aza couldn't help but find them beautiful because there is still a beauty to dangerous things despite the death that can come with it. The farther they walked, there was natural skylight to give light to the cave so they weren't relying on just the torches to light their path. The shift in temperature had made the other women begin to sweat, but Aza was used to this kind of temperature; it was so much like home that her body flourished in the heat.

She heard mothers telling their children to prepare for the bath and heard them answer with excitement in their laughter. They threw their clothes any and everywhere before running to the waters to dip their toes and laugh at one another when they claimed it too hot. Aza couldn't help but smile as she watched since she could remember children doing the same when she was in the Isles. They would bathe as a whole in the river, but only kin clan. It was rare for someone to be made a member of a clan when they weren't born or married into it.

"Are you goin' to stand there in your clothes all day or are you gonna bathe?" G'Winveer said as she removed her doeskin shirt, her red hair already looking damp with sweat because she too was unused to the sudden wave of heat after being out in the cold for so long.

Aza grabbed the edges of her tunic after placing her fresh clothes on a craggy rock. Her eyes kept wandering, looking at the many different bodies of the many different women that ranged from young to old. Aza had never been naked with such a large group of other women since she was but a child in the Isles. It shouldn't have been a big deal as how she was making it out to be. This was natural and a culture that seemed to be of the North just as it was of the South. Once she realized that, Aza stopped her fretting and removed her tunic and small clothes. She practically rushed herself into the water, all too eager for the minerals in the spring to revitalizes her bruised skin and finally be clean again.

She swam to the middle of the waters, dipping her head back to soak her hair. "Feels good, don't it?" She heard Val say, wading in before sitting near the shallow end of the spring where the water covered most of her shoulders.

G'Winveer had helped a pregnant Dalla into the bath, watching her steps and making sure she was able to sit right next to Val before swimming to the middle of the pool as Aza did. "I wish we had a hotspring at Castle Black," said Aza, "but that would've been tricky, for me at least."

"You're telling me all Crows are that stupid?" G'Winveer questioned. "Not one knew you be a girl?"

"Not one," Aza replied, eyes closing as she could feel all her tightened muscles loosening and relaxing. "I'd like to think that I was that good at foolin' them."

"Aye, you were," Val had said with a sly smile, a smile that suited her more than a sweet one. "Most men are fools, even your Jon Snow."

That was a name she was hoping to avoid while she bathed. Aza didn't want to think of him or speak his name here, knowing that Val and G'Winveer might pry with their questions. Val and G'Winveer had mouths just as viciously blunt as hers and Aza finally met her match with them. She wished, just a little, that they could've been less forward. She wondered if that how Jon feels about her half of the time. "He isn't mine," she said, sinking into the water so that only her eyes were visible. Ygritte was here, she spotted her as soon as Val mentioned Jon. She was entering the waters, making her way to one of the mothers who were watching and washing the scalps of their small children.

Ygritte was skinny, very skinny. She was extremely skinny and small-chested compared to Aza's own body, hourglass and having grown more bosomy than she ever expected she would. It made her wonder if Jon Snow liked his women slender, completely lithe. He liked red hair, he seemed to when he last mentioned of the sally he nearly laid with named Ros. The woman that would've taken his virginity had honor not stood between him and his lust. She also remembered that he also liked a woman well-endowed. So much so that he thought Ros' breasts near perfect when Sam tried to figure out the size of them. It was a stupid thing to remember, and it was even stupider for her to be comparing herself to Ygritte. It shouldn't have mattered. None of it shouldn't have mattered to her. What Jon Snow liked and what Ygritte have or didn't have was the stupidest thing she could ever think of.

Val's eyes followed her fixated gaze, possibly having caught her staring at the Wildling girl for so long. "Find her a threat, d'ya?"

"She's not a threat," Aza hated how quickly she replied to that, and how defensive she sounded. "Anyone can claim him." Her eyes lazily slew themselves to look at Val's cat-like, grey eyes. "I don't care."

"But would you like for someone to claim him?" It surprised her to hear Dalla involved in this now. Normally, the shy queen would never mention him unless she said it by chance or by necessity. "I see the way you look at him, you care for him a great deal."

"We were brothers of the Night's Watch," Aza insisted. "I knew him for a year. I've slept in the same castle with him, ate with him, trained with him, and saw his face from sunrise to sunset. How could I not care for him?" But she cared about him before that. She cared about him when he was just a hopeful stranger with eyes looking up at the Wall and Castle Black with wonder and his heart set on the future he thought he would earn there. When he was nothing but a stupid, crazy boy to her. She cared for him then.

G'Winveer snorted. "Then what about all o' the other men? You hardly speak their names."

"There are others I'm fond of, too." She didn't want to talk about him nor the others. She just wanted a nice bath and to not think of grey eyes or curly black hair. She didn't want to think of Jon Snow. All she wanted was to find contentment in her bath and to feel fresh and clean again because she knows that it might be a long while before she can bathe again. In the back of her mind, in the parts she wished would disappear, she wants Jon Snow to say she smells nice since she's still embarrassed from the stench she harbored for the last few days.

"But you care for him more," Dalla stressed, a smile on her face. "You two could make a life here. You can be man and wife, have children…"

"I don't want to be anyone's wife and I don't want any children." Her eyes fell half-closed as she answered. Even if it weren't Jon Snow, Aza never had dreams of settling down and marrying or having a child or two. Aza meant to spend her life as a mercenary until she died because coins were her lovers and her luxuries her children. Not once did she think of belonging to one person and loving them enough to die with them; neither as wife or a lover. In all honestly, she doesn't think she can properly love someone. She could hardly be a proper good person because her mind was selfish and crooked.

G'Winveer was smiling, not grinning as she usually did. There was a soft look about her, for once. "Same as I. I don't need a man and I don't want one. I also don't want no hollerin' and snotty nose brat I have to take care o' until it can take care itself."

"That's because you're enjoying your freedom now." Maternal as always, Dalla spoke to them gently while her hand always stroked her protruding stomach. "But then one day, you'll be lonely and you'll want someone to be there. I just hope that neither one of you realize that until it be too late."

It wouldn't have been too bad to consider her words. Lonely? How could she ever be? When Jon and herself were able to get back to Castle Black, they would live there for the remainder of their lives. How could one be lonely after that unless she were to suddenly lose everyone.

"You don't need love t' fuck," Val said matter-of-factly. "You can ask Jarl if I love him and he'll tell you I don't. He knows I'll grow tire of him soon for there will always be another to take his place." Wringing out her honey-blonde hair, Val flashed Aza a mischievous smile. "You must've thought about it. What it would be like t' fuck Jon Snow."

With a florid face, Aza sunk completely down into the water so that bubbles rose to the surface. If she ignored what Val said, Aza was sure that she'll never hear fuck and Jon Snow in the same sentence again.

 **JON**

 _He was back at Winterfell again, standing right before the crypts he wants to turn away from just like every dream before. "I'm not a Stark. I'm not a Stark…" He says over and over again, hoping that gods would unweave this dream they kept stitching into his mind. All he wants is peace. All he wants is to think of home when things were better. Jon wants to reli_ _ve the times of the days when he and Robb would play in the godswood with their wooden swords and reenacting what they imagined father's fight against Ser Arthur Dayne was like at the Tower of Joy. He wants to think back when Arya was tinier than she already is, following him at the heels and asking what everything was and why people did what they did and why they were the way they were. He wants to feel like the smarter, strong older brother that could satiate her curiosity and give endless amounts of answers and making up things when he didn't know. He wants to hear Sansa's singing down the halls, knowing good and well that she was smiling as she sung the words to those pretty songs. He wants to see Bran, climbing trees and walls again. He wants to go back and see Rickon, smiling and whizzing down the halls with his laugh echoing down the corridor along with the patter of his feet. He wants to see his father, alive and with a head. He wants to see his father's wry curve of his mouth and hear his stories of the rebellion and his time with Jon Arryn in the Vale when he was his ward. He wants to go back to those happier days even if the cost of that was to endure the scorn of Lady Stark all over again._

 _Yet his feet continue to lead him back into the darkness that threatens to consume him. He goes down the steps of the crypts that are forever dark and damp. He goes down the many steps, still wondering what awaits him and why this place beckons him; him of all people. He keeps going and going, wondering where a torch that has a flame burns ardently away at the wood so that he could find light in this path the gods keep making him follow. They kept him in the darkness, thinking he wasn't supposed to feel fear or understand where he has to go. They make him walk in paranoia and confusion as if he wasn't meant to know what this dream was supposed to mean._

 _"—died protecting his prince and so will I."_

 _As before, he could never hear the beginning of the sentence, but he knows the voice now. He knows it to be her. His tentative pace of a walk soon becomes a full blown sprint. Jon is running as fast as the Winter breeze. He doesn't want to be alone here. He hates that he's alone. I_ _t's always just him in this place that had been once filled with so many people. It's sickeningly quiet, empty, bones in the stables and lifeless through the halls, and the first sign of life is Aza of all people. Aza doesn't know Winterfell, she has no reason to be here, but she is. She's always there, whether by force and by choice and he has to wonder if it's by the will of the gods that they always bring her to him._

 _The tombs all start to look the same and he doesn't care which king or Stark it is because neither one of them are his family to care for – he's more than afraid to see one of his father like he knows there's supposed to be. In the dark halls of the crypt where the torches sporadically give him dim light, he sees the frame of a woman before him. It isn't Aza, at least he's sure it isn't her. Jon can't ever imagine the likes of Aza wearing a gown or a crown of flowers in her brown hair. Aza prefers breeches and armor. He's only ever seen her that way._

 _Curious of who the woman was and why she was not the person he heard her to be, Jon ceased his running and kept his feet firmly on the ground. "—died for you." His eyes widened as the woman turned, bearing the face of Aza, who looks more furious than happy to see him. There are tears raining from her narrowed, brown eyes as she takes slow steps towards him, "—left everything and died for you."_

 _"Why does my happiness have to die for your sake?"_

As they marched along the Milkwater to make their way to the Wall, Jon's tired eyes were glued to Aza's back. He tried his best to forget every moment of that dream, but he can't seem to erase the very sight of Aza's sad and angry eyes. The way she looked him, the way she said those words with such vehemence, was unforgettable. What had he done to make her feel and look at him that way? Was this a premonition? Did his dream mean to tell him that he would do something in the days to come to make her say those words? It seemed far-fetched since he doubted that Aza in his dream was like the real one. Like he thought, Aza wasn't a girl who adorned herself in dresses and when would she ever feel the need to? She was still a Crow. It was armor and breeches for her because her secret stays hidden away; kept by only him.

The cold wind whipped his hair, making the curly locks press across his face and obscure his vision. No matter how many times he tried to push his hair back away from his face, it was futile against this unforgiving gale. "You look as if you didn't get much beauty sleep, Snow." Tormund's taunting words captured his attention, making lose interest in what they were marching towards and up at Tormund's broad face.

"I don't need beauty sleep." Still tired, but more-so annoyed, he fell into the man's trap.

"With cheeks as rosy as yours, are you sure?" Tormund's laugh made Jon's frown deep, but he couldn't find himself being able to stay annoyed.

"Is it true you killed a giant once?" Jon asked, deciding that changing the subject would work in his favor as they walked in the long column. The ground was wet with mud and covered in fresh fallen snow since they were so close to the river. His boots were covered with filth, but they were living true to their purpose since his feet weren't wet.

With a hitched brow, Tormund answered him. "Now why would you doubt a mighty man like me? It was Winter and I was half a boy, and stupid the way boys are. I went too far and my horse died and then a storm caught me. A true storm, not no lil' dusting such as this. Ha, I knew I'd freeze to death before it broke. So I found me a sleeping giant, cut open her belly, and crawled up right inside her. Kept me warm enough, she did, but the stink near did for me. The worst thing was, she woke up when the Spring come and took me for her babe. Suckled me for three whole moons before I could get away." He began to laugh, that loud and hearty one that could be heard a good mile away. "There's times I miss the taste o' giant's milk, though."

Confused, Jon furrowed his brows and looked up at Tormund curiously. "If she nursed you, you couldn't have killed her."

"I never did, but see you don't go spreading that about. Tormund Giantsbane has a better ring to it than Tormund Giantsbabe, and that's the honest truth o' it."

Aza would've laughed had she heard this story, he thought. He even found himself chuckling at the idea of Tormund Giantsbabe, which made the Wildling man give him a toothy grin since he was not ashamed to deny the humor of it.

Somehow the conversation of how he earned his other names made him tell the tale of how he had laid with a bear once hence the name of being a "Husband of Bears". Jon wouldn't have believed it. He still doesn't.

"Now as to you…" Tormund began, "is it true they cut your members off when they take you for the Wall?"

"No," Jon gave a solid answer, wondering what lead these Wildlings to believe such a story. How could they believe it with Dalla, belly with child and all? Did Mance let them believe it because he knew Wildlings believed what they wanted or did he tell them that story so maybe the Wildling women wouldn't be so interested in none of them at the Watch? It hadn't stopped Ygritte, however.

"Then why haven't you laid with the Girl Crow?" Jon's eyes went big, surprised at the sudden question that seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. "Why refuse Ygritte? She'd hardly give you any fight at all, seems to be. The girl wants you in her, that's plain enough t'see. The Girl Crow seems to like you as well."

Swallowing the sudden lump that became unbearably present in his throat, Jon shook his head. "Aza and I do not look at each other in those ways. For a long time I believed her a boy. She and I are comrades."

"Comrades…" Tormund sucked his teeth, almost as if he was annoyed when the matter wasn't even about him. "The boy is lost. You lay your sleeping skins by the Girl Crow and Ygritte lays hers by yours."

Just this morning Jon woke to find Ygritte nestled against him, her arm draped across his chest. When Aza awoke to see them, she stared at him with unrivaled anger before telling him to _"bugger off"_ and _"don't lay near me again."_ She said that as if he wanted to wake up in such a position and then she told him he should lay somewhere away from her. He could see how it would make her uncomfortable. It made _him_ feel uncomfortable more than anything. Jon fumbled trying to explain himself when there was nothing for him to explain.

He wondered if he should do as the stories of old, the ones Old Nan used to tell him about knights and ladies that slept in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake. If Ghost were here, he would've used the direwolf than Longclaw. That would've been a wiser and effective option and yet, he didn't think Ygritte could be shaken off so easily.

"The Girl Crow is somethin' else, I tell you. Never seen a girl that small move so quick to nearly rip me arm off." Jon was more than aware of Tormund's fondness for Aza. What he didn't understand is why he, himself, hadn't liked his fondness of her all that much. Sometimes Aza went out of her way to speak to Tormund, giving him smiles that revealed her dimples and laughs that weren't out of spite or sarcasm but genuine delight. They played games, even wrestled with arms, and sometimes she'd overlook him just to seek Tormund out. It was stupid to be jealous over things like that. He didn't understand why he should feel jealous at all. Jon wasn't possessive of his friends. Aza had many at Castle Black and he could never recall feeling envy over her relationships with any of them. In fact, it had been the other way around with last he remembered of his conversation with Rowan.

So he kept thinking about what she said before to ease himself again. _"I like you more than the Wildlings."_

"Are you certain they never cut your member off?" Tormund asked while giving a shrug, as if to say he would never understand such madness that he consider camaraderie and honor to be. "Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have either girl, best find yourself a she-bear. If a man does not use his member it grows smaller and smaller, until one day he wants to piss and cannot find it."

Close ahead was the Fist of the First Men and in his head was Orell saying that he had seen dead crows when he warg'd into the eagle that loomed over them even now. He hadn't told Aza what Orell informed him to spare her feelings. If any of their friends had died, she would see it for herself and not be anxiously wondering if the others had made it as he did. Part him at hoped that what Orell had seen was a trap and all their black brothers were armed, mounted, and waiting. He hoped Lord Commander Mormont had sent scouts to warn him of who comes up the mountain so a battle against the Wildlings could commence. It seemed like hopeful wishing, though. Orell wouldn't lie to Mance Rayder about seeing dead men in black.

As if she seemed to know what he thought to keep from her, he saw Aza whip her head at G'Winveer with a face filled with stifled panic. She looked as if she wanted to run, run to the Fist and see how many of their brothers had fallen, but she knew better. He knew she had known better because she didn't run and she tried to fix her expression so that one wouldn't question her feelings. Aza was a free woman now in their eyes, she was no longer a crow to them. G'Winveer had placed a hand on her shoulder to ease her and yet Jon didn't believe he could see the tension leaving her at all.

 **AZA**

"I'm worried." The second she was able to be with Jon alone, she led him in the far end of the camp to talk to him about what they saw at the Fist. All those carcasses of those slain horses was enough to make her want to vomit, especially since some sick and twisted person had formed the heads and bodies into a spiral for reasons unknown. Why had they done it? Was it a warning or a sign from their brothers? No, it couldn't be. They wouldn't waste nor slaughter their horses because they needed all the horses they had while North of the Wall. Then it had to be the White Walkers since Orell, who swore he saw dead men, had taken all the brothers who were dead at the Fist. They walked again, but not alive; blue-eyed and murder-fueled corpses were what they are now. "What if…"

"Sam is alive and so is Rowan, Grenn, Edd, and the Lord Commander." Jon quickly remarked, grabbing her shoulders in efforts to calm her before she began to lose it. Aza blamed herself for not being there, for letting them get captured by the Wildlings. If they had fought, if she had not let herself surrender when she was outnumbered by G'Winveer and the others, they would've been back with the Lord Commander. And even before that, if she had not stayed at the Wildling's lookout to argue with Jon, they would've never lost Qhorin. All of this had been her fault and now Sam, Rowan, Grenn, and Edd and all the others could be dead because she wasn't there to save them. "Even if you were here, who is to say you wouldn't have died either? You have no idea what it means to go against a White Walker and neither do I."

He had a point. The guilt hadn't left her, though. It was trying to eat away at her still, filling her mind with anger towards herself for making these costly mistakes. "We should've been there… We would've been—"

"We can't think of that now," Jon interrupted her, not allowing her to wallow in what-if's. "We have to think of what we must do once we reach the Wall. Qhorin wanted us to infiltrate them, use them in whatever means to help the Watch. We can't lose sight of that, especially not so early on."

It made her feel ashamed that she had let her feelings cloud her judgement like this. How the weakness that she abhorred was slipping through the cracks of her armor that she solidified for many years. Aza let herself care too much, she realized. It was her caring so much about the Watch that was having her a bumbling mess. If things kept going as they had in the past, Aza would lose them just like she had lost the Red Irons. "You're right." She nodded, letting out a much needed sigh. "I'm… I'm not thinking clearly. It's just… somethin'." Aza squinted her eyes skeptically. "Somethin' keeps on tellin' me that things will go wrong or somethin' terrible has or is going to happen."

"I have the same feeling." It was hard to believe him since Jon was always wary. "What?"

"You're suspicious of everything, yeah? What's the difference now?" She only smiled because he did before she looked at the ground briefly out at the distance. "Don't sleep next to me anymore. I don't like it." It wasn't him that she didn't like, it was Ygritte's need to sleep by him as well and hold him until early light. The first time she had seen it, it felt like her heart had just stopped functioning because it suddenly didn't know how to work. After the shock and spiraling hurt wore off, she got angry. She was so angry that she seen red and raised a fist to hit him, but she stopped herself from ever doing so. What reason was there to be angry or to even hit him? Ygritte and Jon could do whatever they wanted. Jon Snow isn't hers just as she isn't his. "It makes me feel uncomfortable."

Feeling too much fear to meet his eyes, she kept her gaze averted. "I don't invite Ygritte to sleep beside me and I know it must seem strange to wake up to that."

"She's your woman, isn't she?" Finding her courage again, Aza looked at him for proper explanation between the relationship of him and Ygritte. It wasn't truly her business and yet she made it be. She and Jon were friends, best friends, before anything else and brothers of the Night's Watch right after. "You can sleep or lay with her wherever you please, but just not next to me."

"She isn't my woman." The sudden harshness in his voice nipped her like a biting, cold wind. Aza's eyes went big for a good minute before she rose an eyebrow.

"You don't have to get so defensive, yeah?" Annoyed but relieved by his answer, Aza turned away from him because of her sudden need to grin from ear to ear. His reply shouldn't have made her happy, at least not blissfully happy. "She likes you. What's stoppin' you from being with her? You must be a Shield of Men, yeah? The Wildlings will never speculate again if your break your vow of celibacy."

All she heard was shuffling of feet against the snow, almost as if he had been too embarrassed to answer her question. "I'm not interested." He simply put it, but it wasn't simple. Had that been the real answer, he wouldn't feel embarrassed or that's what she thinks.

"Why not? She has a beauty about her." Wanting to see his flustered face, she quickly spun to face him. "And she has bright, red hair and blue eyes." Even in the storm of her envy, Aza could still see that Ygritte had attractive features about her. She wasn't that spiteful to deny that. She knew that even as a Wildling, men would fancy Ygritte's looks, especially her red hair. She would've posed a great threat to many had she been highborn.

"It doesn't matter," he said, repeating those words again but more annoyed than before. "I'm not interested." Aza couldn't tell if he was lying or being honest. What if Jon Snow wasn't aware that he actually did enjoy the Wildling girl? He knew close to nothing about girls, but he seemed to be very much aware of Ygritte's attraction to him. He would have to be blind if he didn't or else she'd have to worry if he had all his senses.

Knowing if she pressed the matter that they would get into an argument, she merely nodded. "Alright, fine. I believe you."

"If I don't play the part, she'll know I'm a turncloak." She supposed that was his answer on why he never sent Ygritte away during the nights and the morning. Jon was taking this mission as a spy much more seriously than she was. The Wildling men either feared her or G'Winveer and Val's protection was what kept them from attempting to steal her. Aza witnessed it herself the way Munda bit half the ear off a man while he tried to steal her. He succeeded, but the hell she put him through made Aza wonder if the man thought it all worth it in the end.

"I suppose you're right." Feeling her envy be overpowered by reason, she gave him an understanding nod.

"She'll stop if we share a sleep skin."

At first she thought he was joking and so she laughed, slapping her hand against thigh. Jon and her? Sharing sleeping skins? Rangers more often than not had done it when they needed warmth for the cold was such a silent killer. The weather had not gotten to that point of that kind desperation just yet and the Wildlings used caves more than they used the ground under some stars for a night's rest. When she finally fixed her eyes to look up at him, wiping away a few tears, she saw his face hadn't budged. He was not smiling or laughing.

He was serious.

"…You…" Her voice was quieter, less sure. "You're serious?"

"Why would I not be?" He sounded far too confident, and she felt her face becoming as hot as a bonfire. She couldn't believe what he suggested and how serious he was. Did he not know how wrongly interpreted his words could be? She's not even sure if she is jealous of Jon and Ygritte's physical closeness enough to consent to this idea. Was she curious herself to know what it was like to lie against him as she slept, wondering if she could reach the same level of comfort as Ygritte did? The Wildling girl always looked content in the morning while Aza woke with her back and sides aching and cold.

"I…" Looking away from him, she wondered why she felt so flustered. It didn't make any sense to be so curious and so intrigued by the idea of sleeping—as innocent as sleeping itself is—next to him in close quarters. "D-Do whatever you want!" Aza inwardly cringed at how angry that sounded, so she shielded her flushed face with her hand and quickly left.

Her heart would give out if she looked at him any longer right now.

 **JON**

Everything, even the shadows, were swallowed by the encroaching darkness. In the sky, that was deep indigo and nearing black, was the moon under siege by stars. They had lightened the night, bringing forth constellations that shone and hung in the dark. The Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of Morning; he could see them all as he gazed above the bright night above him, wondering why such a beauty was shown to him when soon he could possibly lose his life climbing up the Wall. He feared he might not live through it because who confidently believes they can when they never done it before? The Wildlings are sure, but they have no choice but to be because the life they wanted for years was south of it. They would die just to get there and they'll keep on trying. He did not have that reason to be at peace with fear as they did and his fears doubled when Aza decided to climb the Wall with him.

He hoped that she would change her mind and stay at the Wildling camp. He hoped to convince her that her staying behind would be more beneficial to the both of them and the Watch. Just the thought of her falling to her death and him being unable to prevent it made his stomach turn in ways he thought impossible. Not only was the weight of losing his own life so heavy on him, he had to deal with the thought that she could lose hers, too. At least if she stayed behind with the Wildlings, he knew no harm would come to her and when they finally faced the Wildlings, she could cut them down from the inside.

"Climbing the fucking Wall, I've really lost it." He could hear Aza mumbling rather angrily as she carried her sleeping skins with a stomp to her step. "Every-damn-day I'm deciding to do somethin' stupid. Stranger, if you're there, you really want to see me, don't you? You keep finding new ways to take me and somehow I just keep on livin'.

It took everything in him to swallow a laugh as her fit was not over. Curses after curses rolled off her tongue and she began kicking her feet against the snow as if it had done her wrong. Is this how she was whenever she thought herself to be alone? Acting like a child than the girl of seven-and-ten as she was? "I should stay with Dalla. I should stay and be there because her baby will come soon. She would like me to be there."

Her voice lost its edge, becoming more affectionate as she spoke of Dalla and the unborn child. He quietly hoped that she could convince herself to to talk with Mance again and go back to the Wildlings that would stay north of the Wall. Suddenly, she had noticed him, whipping her head to look at him. Was it his presence or the sound of him breathing that made her alert like a deer in the woods?

The intensity of her stare lessened some and she prepared herself to lie down and sleep. It seemed as if she didn't want to go through with it all, considering when she laid down, she pulled the fur so far up her shoulder that he couldn't see her face.

Jon looked around, wondering if he would see Ygritte making her way, so he laid the first layer down before laying atop of it and pulling up the fur blanket up against him. Aza hadn't moved, opting to stay where she was. He thought she would tell him to go away since she woke up and went to sleep uncomfortable knowing that in the mornings and in the nights, Ygritte would be at his side. He couldn't let the sleep take him, so he was staring away at the back of Aza's head, hoping she'd change her mind.

"Stop burnin' holes in my head." He heard her say since she spoke loud and clear, moving the blanket from away her face so that he could hear her.

The smile came easy and it remained even when she turned herself to face him with her eyes the only thing he could see as she peered at him from over the blanket. "Now I can't even look at you?" He knows she has every reason to not like him staring at this time, but he's in the mood for distractions.

"You shouldn't be lookin' at me," she said. "You _should_ be sleep."

"I can't sleep." It was the truth. He couldn't close his eyes for the life of him now. He's too awake, too alert, and too aware.

"If I share my sleeping skins with you then will you leave me be?" Jon nodded, knowing very well that wouldn't be the case. Aza sighed, looking around to see if she were being watched as if there was someone worth being cautious of around. Picking up the bottom of the sleeping skin, she laid them right next to him and laid down, combining their blankets together. She turned away from him, letting her back face him again.

The heat that rolled off her feels like it dies a little before it reaches him. It's emanating off her, he could tell, but there's too much distance for him to recognize it like he had when he carried her on his back. Aza had been too cold after the fight with the snow bear and he had to use his own body to warm her back in the cave he used for their temporary shelter. It doesn't make sense to recognize the heat one's body gives off just from those two close encounters.

Jon should be content with the distance, knowing very well how questionable and odd his thoughts were since he felt her breasts pressed against his back. Just the feel of another body so close to his own was worrisome enough. He has to remember his vows and he should think of them more clearly with her, but it's the opposite effect. He sees her too differently now. He acknowledges her more and more as her girl counterpart than the boy he befriended. Aza can't be seen in the same light, even though he wishes she could. She's a girl, a pretty girl, who's so dangerously close that temptation is rousing in his mind. It nags and nags at him until he forces his eyes shut for sleep. In the end, it's fruitless because his eyes find themselves looking right at her again.

If he were to find himself able to sleep, what if she were to reappear in his dreams again? Her eyes angry and sad, accusing him of ruining her happiness. If he was smarter, he would've chose Ygritte. At least he thinks he could stave off all these different feelings that were coming from many different directions.

She rolls again, facing him, head tilted back to look at him. "Stop staring at me." She's vexed and he doesn't really understand why. He should be the one annoyed; he was fighting his own wars with body and in his head. "I can't sleep with you lookin' at me. You said you'll leave me be if I share my sleeping skins with you."

"I lied," Jon admitted in defeat.

"Of course you lied, you're a liar." And he laughs because he knows no matter what he says, she'll think it to be a lie. "I hate when you do that." Jon couldn't help but think she didn't want him to hear that, but he did.

"Hate when I do what?" Curious, Jon watched as she fisted the blanket tightly.

Meekly or as meekly as Aza can get, she lowered her head and buries it in the fur. "When you laugh like that."

Offended or afraid? Which one makes more sense? _Both_. Because it's Aza, she likes to insult him and pick on him. She likes to say he's stupid and isn't the type to not pick on flaws when she sees them. Usually she's so tame with him compared to the others, but what's stopping her now? He's afraid that maybe he sounds strange when he laughs and she finds it humorous because it's so odd. What did it sound like? He thought it be normal. Nobody has ever said his laugh was unnatural or that they hated when he laughed. Well, maybe they hated the reason _why_ he laughed but not the sound of it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

As if she sensed his paranoia as well as his annoyance, she forced herself from out the blankets to properly look up at him again. "When you laugh like _that_!" He isn't sure why she's yelling and why she's the one annoyed. He was, after all, unsure if she was insulting him or not. "That's your real laugh and not the quiet one. You have two different laughs, you know? You rarely do the one you did." Confused, but more so surprised, his eyes looked at her for a proper explanation because he doesn't understand what she means at all. Two laughs? He can't recall having two different laughs and why would Aza notice that sort of thing? For what purpose had it served? "Forget it, alright? I'm cold, tired, and I don't know what I'm saying."

Even with the fur and her woollen breeches and tunics, she's still cold. Aza will probably never get used to this weather nor the upcoming Winter because she lived in two kinds of Summers. She belonged somewhere under the sun, enjoying warmth because she was born into that type of climate. She belonged South, but here she is, right in the heart of the North. And is it selfish of him to be grateful that she's here? That she isn't South and didn't remain there because Jon isn't sure how life would be without the Summer girl lying right next to him.

She's a Summer girl, both in nativity and season, and it is only right that the boy with Winter in his bones keeps her warm. At least, he thinks that makes sense. It's the only reason he can come up with do what he plans. "Lay into me." He lacked the confidence he mentally had. He never knew the words would come out as strange as they did.

A few seconds of silence goes by and he has to wait for a reply, "What?"

"I said lay into me. You're cold and you won't get any warmer if you stay as you are." Aza hadn't move nor had she spoke, almost like she was either hesitating or completely denying him. He expected the latter, knowing how stubborn she is, but it takes him by surprise when he feels her circling his arms around him and pressing her face into the center of his chest. His arms, at first, hover over her because he's astonished still but soon they encircle her and he rests his chin atop of her head.

"Thank you." As muffled as it was, Jon still heard her. A smile came across his face as he hoped she's warm enough to fall asleep because his eyes are starting to close and sleep is taking him without warning. He hoped that by holding her like this, that he won't have that nightmare again. So he clutches her close, as close as he could bring her, with his nose pressed against the scalp of her hair.

* * *

 **A/N** : So many reviews again! Wow! Your reviews, all of them, really make me happy and I'm glad everyone liked that last chapter. All the Jaza fluff because it is literally going to be harder to write any because it won't fit when the Battle happens. I'm spoiling you all, really. You deserve it. I thought I was going to see 'Aza, how can you be so bold and stupid?" I think everyone will be a bit surprised in what I have in stored with Ygritte.

lilnightmare: It certainly would, so I'm careful how I'm going to go about it, but I think Aza needs to feel jealousy because it'll get harder and harder for her to deny her feelings.

Guest: Tormund definitely deserves more love, but it's only going to make things more painful when the Battle of Castle Black happens.

Katie: That... I wish I had thought of that, that literally sounds so cute to me? G'Winveer and Ygritte plotting. I really wish I thought of that. Ygritte will have her moment though, I know it doesn't sound promising now, but she will. I'm screaming because as much as I would love that. Can you imagine the faces? Ser Alliser would just be like, "You what?!" and Rykker would just be stunned. Speechless.


	10. Chapter 9: The Climb (M)

**AZA**

Mornings weren't her favorite. She loathed mornings. She wished they never came and that she could sleep for as long as she wanted whenever she wanted. Her body knew how much sleep it needed, did it not? So why did she have to conform to rules? Even if it was all pretend, she was a free woman now. She was supposed to be able to sleep for as long as she wanted and wake up whenever she desired. It was mandatory to wake up everyday at first light in Castle Black because one had to work from the early morning until the day is nearly done—except for those on Watch Duty. Those that had Watch Duty had little time for rest since they had to stay up through the night until morning. She wasn't supposed to be a Crow, at least not for the time being. She shouldn't wake like one anymore either.

This morning, however, was different from any other. Lying in a sleeping skin in front of her was Jon Snow and her head was nestled against his chest, soaking in all the warmth he had to offer as she held a fistful of his clothing furs. She could tell he was still in a deep sleep, his breathing had apprised her of that. It is only while he sleeps that she can hear his heart that always beats so steady and sure, lulling her to sleep again right when she awakes. That happened before, back in the cave he used as their shelter while holding her again to give her warmth as she involuntarily slept. Her eyes start to crinkle, a smile on her lips as she began to wonder why such a human part—that every being alive possesses—had such a special meaning to her. Everyone had a heart. Some were strong and some were weak, but everyone had one. So what made his so special? Why did his comfort her when it should've been another sound and nothing more?

It's because she's greedy.

She wants to be the only one to hear it.

But he isn't hers.

 _He's mine right now,_ she thought selfishly, all the while knowing that he is his own person just as she is her own. You do not take nor seek lovers in the Night's Watch. Aza was becoming the living embodiment of the reason why women weren't allowed into the fold of crows. Her feelings were undoubtedly paying the price and she wasn't fighting hard enough to stop herself from eventually getting hurt. Perhaps it was her attraction to danger and her lack of true fear that was making her so bold like this. A part of her that craved to keep these feelings had made her think she can accept the pain that will surely come. It truly believes that she's strong enough to take it; strong enough to _endure_ it.

You can't fight the inevitable and falling in love with Jon Snow—despite wanting to deny it to the heavens and back—was inevitable for her.

Because she remembers who she is and what she must do, she pushes all these thoughts in the farthest part of her mind. It'll haunt her again, she knows that for a fact, but she would deal with them later than deal with them now. Aza snakes herself from out of Jon's hold that has loosened over the night. He held her tightly at first, almost as if he was purposely embracing her than keeping her warm. She shrugged it off, knowing that Jon wouldn't hug her for no reason. It didn't make sense. It was just a nice thought on her end of things.

In all her efforts to be quiet in order to not wake him, she rolled up her sleeping skin and let him keep her furs. She doubted one was enough to keep him from freezing since the nipping winds held no mercy this early morning. With one last glance, she stole a look of his content face before rising to her feet and stretching her arms languidly above her head. She made it her mission now to find Tormund and the others. If she caught Tormund sleeping, she would have her fun. The idea of dropping some snow on his face while he slept made her break out in a mischievous grin. What would his reaction be? Certainly entertaining, whatever it would be. It was something to keep her from thinking of thoughts she wanted to ignore for a good while.

Instead of seeking out pranks to perform, she should be mentally preparing to climb a wall that's over or exactly 700 feet high. How does one prepare themselves to do that anyway? Who would pick to do that when they had a choice? Any other person would've said "fuck that" and stayed behind and she was given that luxury. It was either climb it or stay behind with the Wildlings, wondering every day if Jon was alive or not. At any given chance, these Wildlings could turn on him. They could even turn on her. They may have accepted them right now, but the suspicions still lingered. The doubts and the distrust danced across their eyes every now and again. It was only a handful of them that trusted them, and she didn't know if that was sad or dangerous.

"Had a fun night, Girl Crow?"

She was initially startled by the sudden sound of his voice, but she calmed quickly. She knew it was Tormund for his presence was recognizable, even with her back turned. It also could've been the fact that she spent years as a mercenary that she picked up on the skill on differentiating footsteps. She knew everyone's footsteps at Castle Black, knowing who was approaching her and who was walking down another corridor away from her. It would seem like a good skill to have, but it was annoying most of the time. "I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but I suggest you end it." She warned Tormund, turning around to look up at him.

His crooked grin made her eyes narrow. "You don't want to talk about it, I understand. Some people like to keep what happens in the skins to themselves. I, for one, don't."

"Please," Aza faced screwed up in disgust, her hands raised in a pleading or more like surrendering gesture, "I don't want to think of you fuckin'. Gods, seein' and thinkin' you bare as the day you were born makes me ill." He laughed at that, knowing very well that she absolutely meant it. She didn't want to think of Tormund in that way. She would rather not think of anyone that way if she had proper control of her mind and wasn't stabbed with intrusive thoughts that made her want to cringe. "Nothing happened," Aza told him honestly as she looked at the rest of the Wildling group as they began to skin the game they found last night. Some people were too lazy to hunt in the morning, so they found food at sunset that could cook over a fire in the morning. "Jon and I are… are…" Why does friends sound like a weird word to her now? That's what they were and yet she couldn't find herself able to say it. Aza began to rub the back of her neck, unsure of how to phrase the answer until one popped up in her head, "we are comrades. Yeah, we're…comrades…" That sounded like a horrible excuse and it was the only one she had, "Why does fuckin' have to be involved in everything?"

"That word again," Tormund replied, sounding surprisingly disappointed, "even the girl says it, too." Confused, she had drawn her brows together. "I'm startin' to think the both o' you just don't want t'see it."

"What are you talking about?" Aza had no idea what Tormund was trying to say or eluding to. Normally, she understood him, more than she thought she should, but now it was like he was speaking in riddles. "Why are you interested in knowin' about who I fuck or not? I'm not your daughter and I'm not your kin."

"When you joined us and became a free woman of the Free Folk, you became my kin." Surprised, she hitched both of her brows, eyes wide as he spoke. "I like you, Girl Crow, and I want to keep on likin' you. I keep these eyes of mine out for those I like, understand?"

She wasn't sure why she smiled at that. In fact, she couldn't stop smiling. "I didn't ask you to."

The look on his face made her already aware of what he wanted to say and so her smile grew in size. "Never said you did." His eyes looked away from her and the approaching sounds of footsteps caused her turn to see Jon carrying their furs and sleeping skins. Tormund rose a brow at him, his infamous lopsided grin on his face. "Have you made up your mind, Crow?"

Furrowing her brows, she kept her eyes focused on Jon as he tore his eyes away from Tormund and took a gander down at her. He was quiet, like he was considering the Wildling's words before he gave an answer. When he did, he gave a small smile to Tormund and a slight nod of his head. "Aye, I did."

"Good." And just like that, Tormund walked over and clapped Jon's shoulder roughly, leaving her further in the dark than she already was. She eyed Tormund as he left before she looked over at Jon, wondering if he would answer her if she asked what he supposedly decided on. It wasn't any of her business, but she didn't like being in the dark with him. That was hypocritical at most, coming from the likes of her. So she kept her mouth closed because all his business was not hers to know.

Her eyes met Jon's before she purposely averted them. It was awkward, too awkward for her to even speak to him as she normally did. "There's something I need to tell you." She hated how heavy those words sounded, and how afraid she was of what was to come after them. Every time they spoke of needing to tell each other things, it was because something important had to be discussed. Nothing light came out of needing to tell each other something concerning Jon and herself.

"Lay it on me," she said before sighing, mentally preparing herself for whatever it is he had to say.

"When we're over the Wall, we'll need to start planning an escape." Aza was certainly relieved, glad that he was thinking about an escape than he was about something else. "That is, _if_ we make it." Her nod was slow, still showing she understood the heavy implication of what lied ahead of them. Climbing the Wall was no easy feat and neither one of them should be optimistic that they could easily do it. Neither one should ignore that death was more likely than surviving and reaching the top. "I still would rather you stay with Mance. I can't stand the idea of you climbing the Wall. What if something goes wrong? What if you fall? It would put me at ease if you stayed behind."

Any other girl—or so she assumes since many of the women she has met are unlike herself—would've been head-over-heels that a man was professing that he wants you out of harm's way. That he would rather you take the safer option because he's afraid you'll die. _He's afraid he'll lose you._ Aza, however, took this an an insult because words like that do nothing for her. She could tell that even he knew his words did not bring her comfort and nor had they done their duty of persuading her. His words did the exact opposite of what he hoped to accomplish. "And what if you're the one that needs someone to catch them? Why is that you think I'm incapable of climbin' the bloody Wall?" She scoffed, eyes rolling hard in her disbelief. "I've been takin' care of myself nearly all my life. You asked me to let you protect me and I understand that and I'm letting you, but I never said I'll stop protecting myself."

His brows began to knit, signaling his rising ire and how he's ready to argue with her. His lips are thinning and he's preparing his argument, but she won't give him the chance to speak it. "You want me to just sit by Mance and Dalla, wonderin' every damn day I have to march with him to Castle Black if you made it up the Wall? You want me to wonder if you're still alive beyond it?" How could she not be hurt? How could she not be offended? Tears of irritation were welling up and they were the worst kind of tears. She hated when she's so angry that she began to tear. It's weak. It's stupid. It's what she loathes with all her heart. "It'll kill me. It'll kill me slowly to know I let you go and you're—" She doesn't want to say it. She thinks it is a jinx. You don't speak of what you wish wouldn't happen, especially not death. You do not pray against it because it's likely to happen because you wished it not to. The Stranger is cruel that way. "How could I let you go if I could've been there to save you? How do you expect me to carry on knowing I wasn't there to do anything about it because I listened to your stupid plea to stay behind?!"

 **JON**

It would be an overstatement if he said her words infuriated at him. It would also be an understatement if he said his heart wasn't racing right now because of the meaning of her words. Jon had hoped to never see her eyes bearing the same expression as he dreamed them nights ago. He thought he could avoid making such a look come across them, but here she was, giving him that same look. Her eyes are burning his face despite how glossy they are. She looked as if a tear could fall from her eyes at any minute. They wouldn't be tears of sadness like he saw in his dream. Instead, they would be tears of frustration. Jon didn't know that his heart could beat any faster than it had at this very moment, like it increased in speed in such a way that should've been painful. It was pounding like the constant beat of a drum without any breaks all because she admitted that him dying would have such a deep effect on her.

His feet moved on their own accord. Jon barely knew he was moving until the distance between the two of them was slimming down with each step. Like something had possessed him, his hands grabbed and held onto her small shoulders, pulling her in.

He didn't mean to kiss her.

He didn't mean to dive into the Summer girl's mouth, kissing her with abandon in spite of his conflicting resolve to try and stop thinking of her in this kind of light. He was supposed to stop thinking her as Aza the girl; the pretty girl with big brown eyes, the girl who is always by his side, the girl that fights for him, with him, and against him. The girl he wants to shield, the girl whose body that tempts him because he's never been so close to the opposite sex before. He was supposed to take his mind back to Aza the boy; the boy who is his best friend, the boy who wants to fight everyone, even the world itself and the gods too, if he can. This secret has ruined him because he can't turn back time. Jon has ultimately grown feelings for this person he wasn't supposed to.

He's never— _never_ kissed anyone before; never thought anyone would want to be kissed by him because he's a bastard. Aza should've rejected him. She should be pushing him away, calling him several names including bastard and trying to beat his face until it's bloody and broken like she had done to Craster. There's no resistance. He can't see it because his eyes are closed. He can't feel it either; he should be feeling her fists pummeling him. Instead her hands are gripping onto his furs with the intention to either pull him in or push him away. She was fighting the same tide that dragged him down after fighting it for gods-know how long.

She's the first to break away and he can open his eyes now, getting a steady look of her brown irises that are staring at him with confusion. She looked afraid, lost, and astonished. There's no happy gleam in her eyes. There's no sight of the dimples that only show themselves when she smiles with her whole face. There wasn't even a hint of warmth nor a glimmer of acceptance. This was the rejection he knew would come and now the guilt can wash over him as it properly should. He can rightfully hate himself for doing what he did.

"Why did you…" Her voice was thick with the kiss that she didn't ask for. The same kiss that unraveled him far more than a simple press of the lips should. "Why did you kiss me?"

The words of an explanation he should be giving her are nonexistent. He's still trying to recover, bringing himself back together after kissing her so he can be a coherent person again. He's still reeling from the overwhelming fact that the kiss was the most amazing thing he's ever experienced. He even thought that if he were to die tomorrow or someday soon or whenever death comes to claim him, he hopes he'll think of it. He hoped he can vividly remember the softness of her full lips pressed against his in this act an tenderness that doesn't seem like it rightfully belongs to Aza. This girl is not tender with her actions or with her words, but her lips can kiss tenderly despite the harsh things that come out of them.

"I don't know." The truth sounds ignorant and childish, but it was the truth nonetheless. He doesn't know _why_ he kissed her and he doesn't understand why his heart burns in delight at the idea that Aza would be sad if he were to die. _"It'll kill me. It'll kill me slowly to know I let you go—"_ When she said that, he just thought of kissing her. He wanted to do it so badly and uncontrollably. He had no self control at all in the moment. _He even wanted to kiss her again_. Nevermind everything else. Nevermind the Wall or her stubbornness that led them to this very moment. He just wanted to kiss her and ignore the consequences that would surely follow. If she were to hate him, he would understand, but he prays that she doesn't. He'll ask the old gods, if they'll listen to him for once, to not let her hate him. He'll be as pious as his father was if they were to make this one, simple wish come true after ignoring all the others.

The gods put her here, right in front of him, for a reason. They keep putting her in front of him, they keep making her someone that's hard for him to ignore. They made him look at her and only at her. He's sure they did, he's glad they did, and so he hopes they won't take her away. He'll strip himself of them if they take her away because all the old gods ever did is take things away from him. They dangled everything he ever wanted in front of him and then snatched it from him in the cruelest of ways.

His hands, that are still resting on her shoulders, have slowly began to slide off and go back to where they belong, at his sides. Her eyes are gazing into his own, looking at him for some sort of answer. He guessed she didn't find it because she looked away and cleared her throat rather loudly. The strange quiet between them is broken when she speaks, "We should…" she began to say, unsure of her words, "we should regroup with Tormund and the others." Her voice sounds small, almost like she's afraid to even talk to him. She looks at him once and then walks away, her strides rather quick, leaving him wondering if he's made a mistake that can never be rectified.

 **AZA**

The best thing to do was to pretend the kiss never happened. It was easier that way. He didn't question it or bring it up and neither did she. The awkwardness was there and they purposely gave each other distance, trying not to think of that moment in the quiet snow-filled meadow. She won't romanticize anything about it, not the scenery or the softness in his eyes as he walked—actually ran towards her with the lone purpose of kissing her. She refuses to think of the birth of a flame that settled in her stomach and burst with a life of its own, making her skin warm like the sun was over their head. Aza won't think of that because she's not a silly, little girl. She's not giddy over losing her first kiss for a kiss she didn't know she even wanted.

Now she's stuck here, gathering some wood for some fires with Ygritte. The redhead Wildling girl talks very seldom, at least to her. She doesn't stop talking when she's back with the group or with Jon Snow. She only knows to be quiet when it is the two of them together and Aza was sure it's because they have nothing to talk about. Plus the fact that the both of them had an attraction to Jon had made any sort of relationship between them rather strained. "We don't talk much," Ygritte said, almost like she had gotten an inside look inside Aza's current thoughts, "we should. We'll be together for a long while."

"I didn't think you liked me much," Aza replied, inspecting a broken branch before adding it to the others in her arms. "I never gave you a reason to like me."

"I know that you don't like me." She could tell the Wildling girl was smirking, she had a way of making her voice reveal the expression she currently wore. "And I never gave ya a reason to like me either."

Aza glanced at her from the corner of her eyes. "If we don't like each other then why would we talk?"

"Because the reason we don't like each other is stupid." The Summer girl snorted, smiling some. It was the first thing they could actually agree on. "You like Jon Snow, and I like him, too. He's a pretty man and he's brave, nice and loyal. He talks to me and tells me things. He don't know nothing that matters but he tries to teach me of the things of you kneelers." Her voice had lost its bite to it, softening as she spoke of him in a way that only a person smitten does. Aza supposed he had an ability to smooth out sharp-edged girls; what a dangerous trait of his that she should completely loathe. "When did you first know that you liked Jon Snow?"

Ygritte's question was odd. In fact, it was too personal considering what type of relationship or lack there is of one. "What?" she muttered, her voice rather quiet since she was still quite dumbfounded that such a question had been asked.

"I wanna know how long while you were pretendin' to be a boy crow were you likin' Jon Snow." The redhead stood up straight, her eyes glued to Aza as if she wanted nothing more than the truth.

Aza shouldn't have thought about it. Ygritte shouldn't have been the one to make her think about this, but here she was, exploring when her feelings all started. "From the moment I saw him…" Aza found herself smiling, remembering when she first saw Jon Snow enter Castle Black. He was a fresh face boy, marveling at Castle Black with a look of innocence and adventure in his eyes. "I thought he wasn't right in the head," she told Ygritte plainly, who pinched her face in confusion.

"What? You thought him crazy?" she heard her ask, Aza had only nodded in reply. "Why?"

"I was taken to Castle Black for my crimes but Jon Snow went there of his own choosing to prove himself," Aza answered, shaking her head as she remembered because she still can't believe that he thought so highly of the Watch at first. "He thought the Watch was all about honorable men and fighting to protect the realm for the greater good and to die doing so was like some sort of heroic act. He took the tales he heard as a boy to heart. I told him he was wrong, I've been there longer than him and seen it was shit myself, but he thought to prove himself right just to find out he was wrong."

"He didn't know nothing then just like he don't know nothing now." Aza laughed at that, and she swore she heard Ygritte chuckle, too. The only time they get along is when they both thought Jon to be stupid. "But that isn't the reason you fell for him when you were both crows."

"How can I know when?" Aza felt like she was asking herself that more than she was asking that to Ygritte.

"There had to been a reason," the red-haired girl probed, making her feel more confused and even a bit uncomfortable.

Aza's head played scenes, thinking of which reason in one of them made more sense. She thought of when he followed her, lonely and curious. She lectured him about people not being able to find themselves in him and how he thought he was better than everyone else. She thought of when he asked her about her mother and her lack of love for the Faith. She spilled her insides to him so easily, even though she really didn't want to. She thought of how she asked him what it was like to have a father and how he answered her, gifting her of his point-of-view when she knew that had to have hurt him since he was freshly grieving. She thought of when he gave her a gift for her name day. Aza still wears it proudly around her neck. She feels sorry that during his own name day, they were captives to the Wildlings. She couldn't even give him a gift, but she told him happy name day and he said it that her remembering it was more than enough as a present. She thought of how incensed she was to see what Craster had done to him. How the sight of him bleeding and wounded frightened her and made her want to be Longclaw for him and cut Craster down.

If someone else was in his place, would she had still feel the same way? Would she had fallen for them just like she had with Jon? A smile began to grow on her face at the bubbling realization. No. There way no way she would have fall for them. She was sure of it. It was because it was Jon Snow in all those pieces of her life that she had fallen in love for the very first time.

"I just liked him from the very first moment I saw him," Aza found herself saying, finding the confidence in her words. She raised her head a little higher, her eyes showing more sincerity than the confusion and lack of security that her confused emotions took from her. "The very first."

Ygritte lips formed the faintest of smiles. "I liked him too when I first saw him." Aza's smile dampened some. "He didn't kill me and he sought nothing from me. Many men would say that I owe them for savin' my life, but not him."

What was the word? Empathy. Yes, she was sure she was feeling that right now. Jon Snow asked for nothing and if he ever dares to ask for anything, it's for something small. He gives. He gives more than he could ever bring himself to ask for. How does a person like that live long? That's what makes Aza so afraid. It's what makes her so fiercely protective because she's afraid he won't live long.

"I'm still goin' to chase him," Ygritte told her boldly, "I'm going to chase him until he tells me not to and he hasn't yet."

The green in her began to burst and it wasn't because Ygritte was still chasing Jon. No, it was because Ygritte had more courage to chase him and tell the world that she would. She did not stop herself from feeling what she felt and she was going to barge herself right in whether Jon asked for it or not. She was going to want him and freely want him until she was denied. She envied Ygritte more so for that than she had envied her for anything prior.

"And if he tells you not to?" Aza found herself asking, realizing that such a question sounds rather cruel. Her desires and envy are making her say sinister things. She regrets her words despite how too late it is to take them back.

The Wildling girl with hair kissed by fire didn't seem to take offense. "Then I know he's yours, but if he doesn't then he's mine. I'll be his woman."

The both of them stared at each other, not vehemently or competitively. For once, Aza felt like she understood Ygritte's heart now and her intentions. If Aza had to let him go, she would hope that he would be loved fiercely by the likes of Ygritte. She may hope it out of kindness, but the selfish part of her doesn't want to let him go. It does not want to gracefully let him go to another woman.

They quietly gathered wood, not speaking a word to one another until they were done and walked back to the new camp together. Ygritte split away from her, going somewhere Aza didn't really know, but she saw Tormund's hand, waving her over. She knew she couldn't go where she wanted, mainly a quiet spot to take a short rest as her tired bones craved. She nodded and marched her way over not obediently but because she respects Tormund enough to listen to anything he has to say. This time, however, she felt a bit different now because he didn't really like the way he was looking at her now. Tormund hardly looked so serious at her anymore and so when he did right now, she had her reservations. Orell was with him, watching her like a hawk. Perhaps wargs shared similar traits to the animals they can control.

"Sit down, Girl Crow."

This would be a long conversation from what she could gather and so she eyed the misshapen boulder and put down all the wood for the fires she found onto the snow-covered ground. Orell whistled at one of the Wildlings, instructing them to come over and take it, which made her even more nervous. Her eyes looked left at Orell, who kept his eyes fixed on her now, observing every movement she made. He hadn't trusted her still, but he hated Jon more. Men always hated other men, so she found no motives more than that for Orell's obvious disdain for him.

"Tell me, how many men patrol the Wall?" Aza kept her expression of calm during Tormund's question, knowing that any twitch or aversion of her eyes could be used against her. "Orell has seen them through the eyes of his bird."

Aza looked back up at the Wildling warg, who was practically fixing himself a look that was practically goading her to lie. "The numbers are never the same." She answered rather honestly, "Sometimes it's two and sometimes it's four. We never have one man on his own."

"But if you could give us one number, what would it be?" Tormund asked, calm and civil. He was showing her the very reason why Mance trusted him so much. He wasn't smart in the way like Sam is, who seems to know everything except how to use a sword. Tormund's smart in the means of battle and survival in a more brutish way that she's accustomed of.

"And don't lie," Orell added, looming over her as she sat.

"Shut up!" Aza spat, eyes flaring with annoyance, "Don't threaten me! I don't answer to threats, especially empty ones." After rolling her eyes, she looked straight at Tormund, preferring to answer to him and only him. He waited until her temper cooled down, at least as cool as she could manage to get it. When he thought her to be calm, he gave her a simple nod. "Four at most. Mostly during the day, but at night, it's usually two to three."

The redhead Wildling nodded, accepting her answer. "How many a man in the nineteen castles guarding the Wall?" Orell asked, seemingly trying his best not to upset her again this time. It wasn't because he feared her or realized his mistake, it was because he knew the information was vital. He had to think of the mission than of his own personal feelings. Aza was sure he realized that now like a cunning person would.

"I don't know," Aza answered, still bearing honesty. "I was never made to watch any of the towers."

Tormund looked her in the eyes, trying to decipher if she was telling the truth or not. "And why would that be? Did they not trust you enough to watch the towers?" He questioned, head slightly tilted.

"I hardly left the side of my officer." It was the truth despite how much she wanted to lie. These truths wouldn't hurt Castle Black. "When he became acting First Ranger with Benjen Stark's disappearance, he kept me by his side most of the time. I did ground patrol on mount, mostly."

She kept her focus meeting Tormund's blue eyes every time he looked at her. He briefly looked up at Orell, who looked back at him, and gave him a nod. "We'll be asking your Crow friend the same questions," Orell warned her. "You better pray your answer match."

"And if they don't, what will you do to me?" Her eyes narrowed into a deadly glower. "Will you kill me or will I kill you?" Her words packed the powerful punch, for now. She spoke them carefully, giving them an air of finality.

Tormund smirked, entertained by their bickering more than he should be. "You can't scare your damn self." His eyes flickered to Orell. "What makes you think you can scare her?"

Standing up, she fixed herself ready to leave, but Tormund shook his head. "Keep sittin', Girl Crow. I want you here while we question, Snow." Even if he claimed to trust her, he still wanted further proof. Aza nodded quietly and sat back down, pretending not to think too much about it. It was quiet for a while, time clearly moving since it waits for no one. Aza freed every breath she inhaled, waiting and waiting for Jon to appear and get this all over with. "O'er here," Tormund called out, not bothering to wave his arm as he done with her. Aza looked from over her shoulder, seeing Jon split ways with Longspear before making his way over. They met eyes and she could see he was asking her what was going on, but she couldn't fix her expression quick enough to tell him that it was serious without revealing too much. "I was speaking to Girl Crow about the Crows patrolling on the Wall," Tormund spoke up as she slew her eyes over to Orell, who was watching Jon with more fixation than he had with her. "I'd like for you to tell me what you know as she did."

"There are four to a patrol." Aza wasn't surprised since it was the same as hers except he went into detail where she had not. "Two Builders to check for structural damage and two Rangers to watch for enemies."

Tormund glanced at her and she glanced at him, her smile saying _"I told you so"_ loud and clear. "And how often do these patrols go out?" asked Orell.

"It varies," Jon answered. "If I knew where on the Wall we're heading, I could tell you."

"You'd like to know that." Orell quickly became defensive, his distrust flaring. "There are nineteen castles guarding the Wall, how many a man?"

"Three." Aza kept her expression schooled, knowing that Jon was telling the truth. He shouldn't have told them the truth of that. He could've kept that to himself, but he must've had his reasons.

"You sure of that." Since she kept her eyes looking everywhere but at Jon, she knew he nodded. "Which three?"

"Castle Black." Aza glanced up at Orell, who was studying Jon's expression intensely. He was looking for any provocation of a lie so heavily that Aza believed Orell would pick anything and deem it a lie for the sake of it.

"Aye, everyone knows Castle Black. Which others?" The sudden quiet made her feel nervous, but she didn't wear it on her face. Tormund looked up at Jon, trying his best to decipher if he was being honest or not for himself.

Jon eventually began to give answer, and Aza hoped he didn't tell them the truth. "Eastwatch-by-the-sea." Aza clenched her jaw, remembering that Mormont had made plans to take the men from Eastwatch and send them to Longbarrow. He hadn't fulfill the plan yet, but she prayed that he did now. "And the Shadow Tower." There was hardly a living soul in the Shadow Tower now that Qhorin was dead. He also took the men there with him, who were as dead as he was.

"How many men remain in Castle Black, Girl Crow?" His sudden question made her swallow thickly. How does she answer this? With a truth or with a lie? Biting down on her lip, she decided to phrase it in the best way she could.

"I don't know." It was only half a lie. "When we left, the Watch had gained many recruits and two of the Wanderers left further South to seek more." Yoren never returned, so she assumed him dead. He wasn't the kind to abandon the Watch, and they didn't trust those that had weak loyalty to be a recruiter. She rather liked him despite nearly trying to kill him. Ser Alliser also went South to tell King Joffrey that they needed more men with the Wight hand in Aemon's jar. How many had he gained? Hopefully enough to help them now. "It's hard to know how many when we left before they returned."

Tormund looked up at Jon. "How many men do _you_ think is left in Castle Black, Snow?"

Jon didn't even take time with his answer. He already planned it, and he said it with certainty, "A thousand."

A thousand was a scary number, but she doubted that would put fear in the Wildlings hearts. Even if there were three thousand of them in Castle Black, the Wildlings were much too determined to go South to let a number deter them. They were going to die either way; Crows or White Walkers if they remained North of the Wall. They already made their pick of how they would rather lose their lives. "Liar," Orell declared.

"What happens to your eagle after I kill you?" Aza was shocked that Jon Snow had stepped forward to face Orell. Her eyes watched with mild curiosity, somewhat beginning to grin at how her usually calm companion seemed to have had enough of the Wildling warg. Jon was hardly so easily provoked to fight, but Orell pushed him good enough. "Does he drift away like a kite with its strings cut or does he just flop dead to the ground?"

When she saw Orell take a step closer, she watched Jon put his hand towards the Longclaw's handle. Smirking, she switched her gaze back at Orell, wondering if he would dare to make a move. Tormund stopped him, much to her dismay. He threw Orell to the ground and stepped to Jon Snow with his broad face masked in dangerously cold fury; his eyes were like the heart of the storm of Winter. "I like you boy, but if you lie to me, I'll pull your guts out through your throat." And it was a threat Tormund meant and intended to keep. The bass in his voice made that clear.

"A thousand men," Jon repeated, much more harshly to prove it was undeniable truth. He neither looked away or weakened before him. Aza watched Tormund stare into Jon's eyes, the blue meeting grey in a rather stormy clash that made her wonder if things could go worse from here.

"We'll find out soon enough." said Tormund, leaving them now as Aza felt like she could suddenly breathe again. She never realized just how frightening Tormund could be when she saw that deadly look in his eyes. He already looked as if he could split a man in two with just his bare hands and he wielded an axe, so she was sure he could cut someone down without the tiniest of struggles. Jon stood there, eyes following Tormund and Orell as they left them until he felt like he too could breathe again.

He finally looked at her and she looked up at him. She could tell from the look in his eyes alone that he was irate. "He said he'll pull your guts out, not mine." She thought a joke would make things a bit lighter, but Jon neither smiled nor laughed.

"You could've told me what to prepare for," he snapped, making her do a double-take.

"What was I supposed to say?" Standing now, she folded her arms as she looked at him like he was half-crazy. "I was supposed to turn to you and say, _"Hey, watch out, they're goin' to be askin' us about Castle Black! Let's get our answers straight, shall we?"_ I'm suppose to say that while sitting right in front of them, yeah?"

He calmed as if he saw the sense in what she said. It probably wasn't even that, he might've just accepted what happened without complaints. It was futile to be angry over what they couldn't change now. "We should've thought of this." Jon shook his head, disappointed with how things went. "We should've planned for this ahead of time."

"You're right," Aza agreed, knowing they had handled this very poorly, "but I think we answered them good enough. Who knows, when we reach Castle Black, there might just really be a thousand men."

"With a good half of them unprepared and more likely to die than put up a good fight." Jon sighed heavily, shaking his head again out of frustration or possibly something close to defeat. "When we left," he began, "the new recruits could barely swing a sword or even hold a bow."

She remembered when he said they still smelled of Summer. Aza lowered her shoulders, showing her own concerns of how things could turn out. "There's nothing else we can do. Castle Black was never ready for a war, even before the Great Ranging."

"Many of us will die…" Aza could hear the somberness to his voice, which made her feel the weight of it all come crashing down.

"But we'll die fighting… together." She hoped that reassured him, and she was thankful at the sight of a small smile. It may have not meant that her words cheered him up, but they gave him little hope. A little hope was better than none.

"Together," he echoed, his eyes crinkling as his smile grew some inches more.

* * *

How should one spend the morning of what could likely be the day they die? Aza isn't sure, but she knows it shouldn't be smiling and laughing, being hit with round balls of snow. They were afraid but they wouldn't openly admit it to one another because they didn't want to worry each other. It was her that smashed a handful of snow on his face, laughing at how his eyes were the only things visible. He yelled her name and then gathered snow in his gloved hands, perfectly creating the perfect round shape and threw it at her face in retaliation. The fight didn't last long. It couldn't when Tormund came over, telling them to knock it off like a father does to his children. They listened, rather too obediently, and Aza lowered her head a bit shamefully.

"Bein' brave won't get you everywhere, Girl Crow." Aza's eyes lifted to look up at Tormund as he spoke. He was handing her one of the two ice axes with metal fastened onto it. It wasn't a weapon, she realized, but something to help her climb the centuries old wall of ice. "But bein' brave might just get you up that Wall." There were two strips of hide at the the blunt of it before she inspected the sharp point of it carefully. It would be good to pierce someone with, she thought. She wanted to jab it like a dagger, but she thought of how childish that might look and changed her mind. "A little fear is good, but never too much."

He sounded like a worried father again or maybe an uncle. She can't really tell since she's never had a father present in her life and her uncle was a terrible man. Aza couldn't possibly hope to look for her uncle in any man unless she wants to kill them. Aza also doesn't know what it was like to have a brother either or one that she's aware of, but she's sure Tormund's too old to be something like that to her. He could be her brother in a pack sort of way, but he's kin to her now as he declared she is to him. Temporary kin, she has to remind herself, but still kin.

"I'll be fine," she reassured him, giving him a smile she hopes to lessen his worries of her. "I refuse to die and I definitely refuse to fall."

"You should've been born a Free Folk," Tormund laughed as he tousled her hair with his large hand. "You'd be the fiercest blood of the First that a man has ever seen."

"I doubt you'd like all the trouble I'd give you." She tilted her chin up at Jon. "He can tell you I always seemed to find some."

"She makes trouble," Jon jested, "even from out of thin air."

Tormund laughed again while she was too busy frowning. Aza was suddenly offended at what was obviously a joke. "Hey!" she shouted, brows furrowed as she tried to push the thought of kicking snow in his eyes. "That isn't true…"

Jon merely smiled at her, continuing to tie on the metal spikes that jutted from the toes onto his boots. Hers were already on, it was the metal picks that were all that she needed and Tormund had gifted them to her.

When all was ready, they all sorted themselves into three teams of four. She wondered whose idea it was that she be teamed with Longspear and two others. Jon was teamed with Orell, Ygritte, and Tormund. If Orell wanted to rid himself of Jon, he had the chance right now, but Ygritte wouldn't let it happen. Aza could trust Jon with her and Tormund even though it aggravates her to entrust his life to anyone else.

"Gonna be lookin' up at Tormund's ass the whole climb, yeah?" Aza slapped Jon's shoulder playfully. "Good luck with that." It was said loud enough for Tormund to hear and he as well as a few other Wildlings that heard created a chorus of laughter.

Jon nudged her, hating to be the center of the joke but taking it well enough. Longspear, friendly and sociable, gave him a sympathetic smile. "Better hope he doesn't break wind too much. You'll die without even fallin'." The laughs erupted again, but Aza was too busy disgusted at the idea of how foul of a stench Tormund's gas could possibly be.

"Mance promises swords for every man of the first team to reach the top," Jarl announced to them, "Southron swords of castle-forged steel. And your name in the song he'll make of this, that too. What more could a free man ask? Up, and the Others take the hindmost!"

Good steel and a song? Aza tilted her curiously, wondering if she could reach the top with Longspear and two Wildlings whose names escape her,. She doubted it. Their team would not be as fast. She didn't need the steel, she just wanted her name in a song. Even she had little desires for glory and she thinks her name would sound pretty sung by Mance. He had a nice voice, last she remembered.

Jarl used trees close to the Wall to climb a good height of it and she was lucky to be given the same luxury as well. When there was no more trees to climb, Aza had to sink her metal deep enough into the ice and it frightened her at first, she was afraid it wasn't in good enough before putting her weight on it. It was Longspear's assuring words that made her start to have some faith in herself. The ice sometimes would crack and crumble, but she thanked the Seven it was only in small amounts. The Wall was getting weak, at least on the surface. The sun was out, making the crystalline blue a pretty sheen to look at, reminding her that this was truly a form of water. It's strange that for as long as she seen the Wall, nearly two years when she thinks about it, she never knew how beautiful it truly was up close. It's freezing cold, but it's still beautiful as it is dangerous. It seemed all dangerous things had a beauty unlike any other to it.

She told herself not to look down as she climbed higher than just a few little feet. It was hard to see with the wind and snow that kept whipping into her eyes and face. If only she had something to shield herself with in efforts to keep her vision clear… It would make this journey easier for all she can really see is blinding white. Her arms and legs keep moving, repeating the same step she has learned that keeps her steady, alive, and climbing upward without fail. To try and save herself from being so blinded, she narrowed her eyes until they were nearly shut, only to see Longspear's legs not too far away from her. She has to watch herself now for she can't get too close to him. There's not enough distance between them and if he falls, those spikes might slide right into her head and she'll fall and possibly die before hitting the ground.

Many had died, she heard their screams and pressed herself to the freezing ice. The snow hit them hard and unforgivably, hitting their bodies and bending and snapping them like the fragile beings that humans were in an unfair fight against nature. Their screams echoed in her ears and in her head as reminder that she could face the same fate if the Stranger willed it. He always had a way of warning her that death was near; so likely to take her. She could be kissed by him too. Not a sweet kiss either since Jarl was impaled by a branch of a tree and others of his team fell to the ground and died except for one who now has shattered legs and a shattered back. The Stranger only blesses sweet kisses to who he wants, no matter who they are.

Her body halted at the sound of a loud crack and she could feel through the rope that Longspear froze himself solid like the ice against them too. Her eyes slowly looked right, searching only for Jon, who was staring at the line that was birthed from Ygritte's axe. All everyone could do was watch in utter horror as powder of snow fell first, dusting and blinding all who it fell upon before colossal chunks of ice broke off and took a whole team of Wildlings without so much of a warning.

More screams for her to hear. More screams for her to remember.

But the fear couldn't leave her yet because the section of the Wall against Jon, Ygritte, and Orell began to break too. Orell screamed a frightened "no!" before digging his axe into the ice fiercely, Tormund sunk his metal in deep, holding the rope to keep them from falling to death and trying to pull them up. "Jon!" she screamed in panic, but she could barely see him because of the swirling, white gale and because he's too far below. "You bastard, don't you even think of dyin' on me!"

"We have to keep goin'," Longspear shouted down at her. "We can't stay here!"

"I'm not movin' until I know Jon is alive and safe!" she shouted back angrily, incensed that he would think she'd leave him. "You can cut the rope if you want. Leave without me! I don't care!"

She couldn't make out his expression, but Aza had hoped Longspear's heart held some more kindness to not leave her. She didn't want to die, at least not like this, but she couldn't find the will to move on unless she knew for sure Jon was either alive or, what she ultimately fears, dead. In this moment of desperation, she didn't know if she should pray or even who to pray to. Does she pray to the Mother for mercy for Jon? Does she pray to the Warrior to give Jon strength and courage to survive this battle for his life? Maybe she should abandon the Seven and seek out his old gods? Would his old gods listen to her and save their believer? Would they pity her and save him for her sake if not for his? Orell had shouted something, but she couldn't quite hear it. When she squinted her eyes to try to see more clearly, she saw the Wildling warg using a dagger to cut the rope.

He was going to let them fall to save his own skin.

Calming herself, swallowing down all the fears that wanted to release out of her in a scream, Aza felt adrenaline coursing unchecked through her veins. It was urging her to do what she didn't believe she could. It was urging her to save Jon at the cost of endangering her own life and even the life of the other three above her. Closing her eyes and letting out the air she gathered, she breathed out and snapped her eyes open to focus her sight on Ygritte and Jon's rope that Orell is trying to detach himself from. Aza unhooked her axes from the Wall using them to break the piece that holds the rope. She had to in order to begin to swing herself with the safety rope that is unbound. Her eyes looked pleadingly up to Longspear, who kept his axes sunken deep and nodded his head to inform her that he was still with her and she could swing again.

It took some time to get the right momentum, but the wind helped her; like the gods, whichever ones, was on her side. Her hand was so close to grasping it now and with another swing, she was sure she could grab it. Pulling back and pushing her body forward, she saw the rope was cut clean by Orell, but it was within her grasps by a hair. Jon had luckily managed to secure his part into the unbroken part of the Wall beneath her and Ygritte was halted from falling due to her hold on the rope. Ygritte's eyes looked up at her, looking thankful and surprised. Aza gave her a small nod of encouragement and watched as Ygritte scrambled to sink her axe back into the Wall, giving Aza no trouble in tying their cut rope onto the one that is around her waist.

When she was atop of the Wall, she was going to kill Orell. She was going to throw him down, kill him in the same manner she tried to murder Jon and Ygritte. If he thought he was going to get away with it, alive and unscathed, he was bloody wrong.

The rest of the way up the Wall wasn't met with any difficulty. The worst ahead of them were the freezing winds, small weak ice chunks, and nothing else. It took hours to get up there, she knew they traveled at least a whole day because morning was with them again. When she felt Longspear's hands pulling her up, she wanted to lay down on the flat surface, but chose not to. She had to make sure Ygritte and Jon had made it up and she was relieved to see a head of wild red and a head full of curly black hair.

Aza rose to her feet, hands on her knees as she tried to gather her breath that she still can't quite catch. She was sore all over, but it was the flame of her anger flaming inside that gave her enough strength to march her way towards Orell. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!" she warned him. She wasn't going to sneak attack him or give him an excuse to say he was blindsided. Aza was allowing him to prepare himself to raise his fist and fight her, and she didn't care who heard her or who watched. Many of the Wildlings stopped and stared, not even moving to stop her except for Tormund. He practically ran his way over, lifting her up with ease in his thick arms, making her kick her feet out as she tried to get one good lick of her jutted boot into Orell's face.

"That's enough, Girl Crow!" Tormund said as she twisted around in his hold, fighting to free herself to do what she promised to herself that she would. "Snow is alive and you should be happy about that." It sounded strange that words of reason were coming from out of Tormund's mouth. She had to wonder why he was keeping Orell alive. Was it because they were clan kin or was it because Orell was a warg? He might need the eagle a bit longer and that's why he couldn't afford to lose him so early on. If she can't kill him now, she'd take his head off with Flyssa in Castle Black.

"Let her go," she heard Jon say and Tormund's hold on her began to loosen and the fight in her was overshadowed by the tide of fatigue. When her feet met the snow atop of the Wall, she sunk down until her knees were pressed into snow as she tried to catch her breath. Jon knelt down in front of her, eyes squinting due to the cold wind that hit them left and right.

Her eyes were welling up again and she wasn't sure what were the meaning of these tears. Was it anger or relief? She doesn't know and she doesn't care to think about it all that much. Her vision was much too blurry to see anything until she felt ice-cold, gloved thumbs wiping away at her eyes. The tears must've fell or else there wouldn't be anything to wipe and she feels annoyed at herself for allowing that to happen. She blinks once. Twice. Three times now. She blinks all the tears away until she could finally see and the sight before her is Jon's smiling face after being blinded of a world of grey.

"I didn't die." His voice was calming the storm in her. He sounded as if he fulfilled some sort of a promise to her; a promise they never made or at least she doesn't remember making them any sort of promises concerning living or dying.

Aza gathered her hand into a tight fist, punching his shoulder despite how her fingers were aching like hell. She hit him again and then she raised both of her fist, hitting his chest without any strength behind any of her hits. He sat there, taking it, knowing damn well that he shouldn't. She's throwing a tantrum and she isn't fully sure why, "You're damn right you didn't die!" She had burst out into a laugh, not even sure why she's even laughing when she was just crying. It's a breathless one and a tired one as he pulled her into a comforting hug that she never wants to be let out of.

 **JON**

It felt good to have his feet on the ground again, but it felt better to see Aza back to her normal self. The tension and awkwardness that nudged itself between them felt like it had completely left, giving them back the relationship they built prior to the "incident". It wasn't completely the same, it could never be, but it was comfortable. Aza wrinkled her nose, letting out what sounded like a squeak of a mouse that was actually a sneeze. He laughed when she couldn't stop the first time and he knew it was because she was still damp from the rain that came pouring every other day, lightly and heavily. "Stop," she sneezed, "fuckin'," she sneezed again, "laughing!" and she sneezed a third time and he's still laughing.

When she's sure another sneeze won't take over, her eyes shoot him sharp daggers before looking ahead as she twitched her nose like a rabbit does. "I told you not to go running out in the rain, but did you listen?"

"It's been so long since I've seen rain…" Aza sighed. "How could I not run out there and get myself all wet in it?"

"Because it's freezing and it's not Summer anymore." His bluntness isn't welcomed and he wondered if she knows that this is how it feels to be on this end of things. She's always thinking of herself so highly to give lectures, but when it is done to her, she wants to pout. It reminds him of Arya, who would purse her lips and roll her eyes or look up at them through her lashes, giving so many excuses for her actions and behavior. She eventually says she was in the wrong and all is forgiven. Aza, however, is more stubborn than Arya, so much so that she hardly gives in. She only apologizes when she's cornered or when she runs out of excuses.

"When I was little—"

"You're still little," he teased and was met by a sharp jab of her fist at his side. The furs had softened the blow, but he still found himself wincing and rubbing the spot where she hit him.

"When I _was_ little," she repeated much more sternly before losing the hardened look in her eyes to take on nostalgia instead, "me and the other children used to run outside when it rains with our hands in the air, just spinnin' around and gettin' ourselves all soaked. It didn't rain that much in the part of the Isles that I lived, so when it did, the people always felt happy. We would dance and sing, laugh and play. My mother used to sing me some song about the rain. I don't remember how it goes, but it was somethin' about all the animals being happy about how the grass and flowers get their rain."

The smile on her face is a sweet one, which is the rarest one he has ever seen on her. Her eyes are warm and she replaces the sun that's hidden away in the grey overcast with that look alone. He's not sure if it made sense to like to see or hear something new from her, learning about her childhood or more about her than she has ever intended for him to know. The steel of her voice is gone and he can actually hear a girl of seven-and-ten for once and not some hardened person that has lived more years than they actually did. How her maturity fluctuates is a mystery to him. "If you ever remember," he began to ask, "would you sing it?"

"Piss on that!" He grinned at her sudden outburst. "I can't sing for shit! If I could, I wouldn't have been a sellsword, I would've been a bard. Imagine how life would've been for me, yeah? Singin' so sweetly in the halls of all the lordlings castles and fingers strummin' those stupid lil' strings as people drink, shout, and fuck all while I'm singin' some silly song about some dead man or dead lady that died centuries ago."

Jon sighed, wondering why she had a way of making nice things sound awful. Who thinks of people shouting and having sex while a bard is singing? Her imagination is warped and he knows it is because she hasn't lived an easy life. It makes sense why she's mostly jaded about good things or she rather implements too much realism in her fantasies because then they wouldn't make much sense to her. "If you were a bard, we wouldn't have met." He didn't mean to say it. It just came out and he looks at her from the corner of his eyes, curious to her reaction.

She nodded. "True, I don't think I'd have the need to be goin' up North…" Aza's thinking too technically and not seeing what he means. Deadpanned, Jon sighed again and believed her to be hopeless. "I guess it's a good thing because I'm glad to have known you, Jon Snow." Her head turns to face him, brown eyes looking up at him. He contemplates if stealing a kiss from her again is right and then he remembers last time. He doesn't want to ruin things and so he forces himself to look away before he loses self control again.

Around them were farmlands. They were in Brandon's Gift that's been abandoned for what he believes for many, many years. There weren't people to plow the fields or tend to the bees for their honey or plant the orchards. Now all that remained of it was a waste of good soil and a home to the wild animals that roamed here.

"Where is Ghost?" she asked, a faraway look in her eyes. "Am I touched in the head if I say I miss the beast?"

A sad smile appeared across his face. "I don't know." He has no idea where Ghost has gone. Did he go to Castle Black or had he gone somewhere with a wolfpack? He has no clue. He can't sense Ghost and while as long as the direwolf is gone, he feels half lonely. "Funny how you miss him when he's away, but can't stand to be near him when he's close."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder is what I heard once," she replied. He could barely tell if she actually meant that she missed him or not. "I see your pretty face every damn day so I can never miss it." Jon shook his head as she heard her sigh with longing, "I miss Sam, I miss Edd, I miss Grenn, I miss Pyp, I miss Rowan… I miss Rykker and I miss Hobb… Seven Hells, I even miss the Lord Commander." She blew out some air, looking entirely lost in her disbelief. "Now I really know I'm touched."

"We'll see them soon." It isn't a promise since he isn't sure if he can keep it. The look on her face made him think she didn't really believe him.

He's tired of girls looking at him like that.

He remembered Ygritte's sad eyes as she lured him playfully to the cave, swinging the torch with one hand and Longclaw in the other. He had gave her the chase she wanted because he wanted Longclaw back and she wouldn't have returned it no matter how many times he asked her to. She lured him there for her own reasons and he hadn't known them until she took off her clothes. Ygritte stood there before him, naked and covetousness of wanting him inside her. She told him to break his vows and to be hers.

 _"I want you to see me,"_ she told him without wavering. _"I want you to see all of me."_

He was tempted. How could he not be? He was a man, a virgin, and Ygritte was willing with hair kissed by fire and eyes that are sharp and shows what she wants. She's never confused and never unsure of how she feels about him. She's always been direct.

 _"I can't…"_ he said to her, weak and confused. _"I can't."_

 _"Why not?"_ She kissed him or at least tried to, and he pulled away.

In the place of Ygritte, he saw a vision of a Summer girl, who's in the crypts of Winterfell with sad and angry eyes. _"Why does my happiness have to die for your sake?"_ She repeats and he's even more lost and confused than he was before. He can't see Ygritte anymore. He can't see anything but those eyes coming to haunt him and he wondered if this is the gods telling him to keep his vows or his heart was saying that Ygritte isn't the one that he wants.

He has already kissed who he wants. He has always thought of being intimate with who he wants.

 _"I can't,"_ he said with conviction now. _"We can't Ygritte."_

 _"And why can't we?"_ Ygritte stepped forward, dispersing the image of Aza like it's smoke and reminds him of her pale skin, unclothed and revealing her entirely. _"What's stoppin' you, Jon Snow?"_ She took another step until she was pressed against him, her lips practically grazing his own, but he doesn't have the sudden will to kiss her like he experienced with another girl before. _"Is it her?"_ Ygritte's voice dropped. _"Ya won't be with me because of her, isn't it?"_

He wanted to spare Ygritte's feelings, knowing that she has grown to like him. He would rather she just take his no and not want further explanation, but Ygritte won't do that. His mind only hoped that she would. She demanded answers. She doesn't take things at face value and she didn't like not knowing what he thinks she ought to know.

It pained him, a little, to have to be so blunt. _"It is,"_ he answered her quietly, eyes looking away from Ygritte's naked form. He picked up her clothes and held it up to her before meeting her eyes to say that he meant what he said. _"It's because of her."_

 _"Do ya love her?"_

He, himself, isn't sure how to answer that. He doesn't know how deep his feelings go for Aza. Is it love? Had it gone that far? He can't say for sure. He knows the things he loves about her, but he isn't sure if he's _in_ love with her entirely.

 _"I…"_ He hesitated at first. _"I might."_

Ygritte's eyes had shone with tears and he lowered his head, feeling guilty. He didn't know how to assuage her hurt and he's sure she didn't want him to. Ygritte snatched the clothes from his hands and started fumbling around to put them back on, sniffing and wiping her eyes with quick rubs of the heels of her hands.

 _"You might? You know nothing, Jon Snow,"_ Ygritte had said to him. _"There is no might, you do or you don't. I can see it. I tried not to but I can. You love her, I know you do."_

His mind tries to forget the memory of the cave. He doesn't want to think of how hurt Ygritte was, but he should confront his own feelings for Aza. It wasn't fair to Ygritte that he had been stalling around, hesitating and never denying her properly so she could move on and find someone else. He blamed himself for that even though he never told her he was interested anyway.

He couldn't love Ygritte anyway, he was still a Crow and still the son of Ned Stark. He's a man of the Night's Watch, and he can't forsake that for her. She'll want him to, probably threaten him to, but he can't bring himself to let the Watch go. They were of two different worlds; worlds that were about to clash.

His mind comes back to the present day, Tormund and the others were walking not too far behind them. He can hear them, talking and arguing, but can't hear Ygritte, who has been quiet ever since he denied her.

"They still don't trust us," Aza's voice brought him out of those thoughts that should be forgotten, "but you already knew that, didn't you?"

How could he not? They were watched day and night. Questioned and picked on with any words that resembled they favored the Night's Watch. Some did smile and speak to them, but it was all false in their hearts.

"Does it matter anymore?" He found himself asking her, his eyes slowly looking down at her empty, gloved hand. "Do you need them to trust you?"

"No," she simply said, no reservations or hurt in her voice. "As long as I have you then I don't."

Jon steadily took her hand, lacing their fingers together and she did not resist him nor pull her hand away. Aza looked up at him and smiled some, gripping his hand tightly, telling him she hadn't mind him holding her hand.

"I don't want them to die. At least, not _all_ of them." Her voice was quiet, not so much out of fear that they could hear her, but out of sadness. "I don't want to betray them but I will. You will too and I know you don't want to either. You've come to like a few of them as I have."

She was right, and he kept thinking that so many would be lost in the battle to come. He held her hand more tightly, feeling his hands becoming warm from her touch. If he has to lose all the Wildlings, he can bear it, but he can't stomach nor think of the thought of losing her. Jon doesn't want to lose the Summer girl whose smile replaces the sun that is lost behind the clouds of grey.

 **AZA**

She never knew how much she missed grass until she laid on it. It had been so long since she saw vast, bright fields of green and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimpse of the outskirts of King's Landing. In the outskirts, she learned to ride a horse as Hadrian had told her stories of Dorne while he taught. He never stopped telling her of his home even when his lessons were done as they hunted together and she would shadow him. It has been so long she reminisced her days with him that it makes her feel rotten that she tries not to think of him anymore. Even now as she laid on her back with her eyes taking a drink of the starry night of the velvet color sky, she hopes to forget him. Why were the stars so heavy today? Like she could see the strings that keeps them strung in the air. The night makes her forget Hadrian again like he was never in her thoughts in the first place.

The stars was a bunch of shiny, silvery-blue dots and some of them gathered together to make visions that man creates out of what he sees. Out of all that she knew, she always looks for the Sword of Morning. It's the one that's easiest to remember other than the Ice Dragon and the Crone's Lantern. Jon knows more of them than she does and she finds herself envious of the fact. He had a Maester and a woman he said was called Old Nan to tell him about constellations. Meanwhile, Aza had to learn about them by the mouths of many others and most of them hadn't agreed with each other because none of them received the proper education.

"What are you thinking about?" A voice had said to her left and she rolled to her side to look at the face of Jon Snow, who is only a few inches away from her. He claims that he can barely get sleep anymore because the nightmares have become more frequent. He said the last time he was free of them was when they shared sleeping skins. It felt like a good excuse on her part just to sleep next to him by obliging him, but she has come to wonder if he's making excuses, too.

"Nothing," she answered him, not at all telling him what she's actually thinking. "Why are you awake?"

"I can't sleep."

Aza had scooted herself closer, feeling his arms encircle her as her face is pressed to his chest. If this really is an excuse, she won't be angry with him. "Jon," she called out his name, "what happened between you and Ygritte?" She wondered if he thought she didn't see the obvious distance between the two. Ygritte barely spoke to him nowadays, which seemed so odd compared to the many months that they remained with the Wildlings.

"She's not interested in me anymore," he said and none of it made sense to her. It isn't until she thinks of Ygritte's words: _"Then I know he's yours, but if he doesn't then he's mine. I'll be his woman."_

Did he…? Aza quickly pulled herself away from him, tilting her head back to look up at him. "Did you tell Ygritte you didn't want to be with her?"

At first it was surprise that came across his face but then it withered into a slow nod. "Aye," his voice was low as he spoke, "I did."

"Why?" Her curiosity was buzzing, annoyingly so since she wondered why she hadn't noticed any of this sooner.

He goes quiet and his eyes are staring right into her own with a look she can't quite piece together. Her eyes tilt with a look of bemusement, and almost out of exasperation. "Because," he began, hesitant to answer her, "she knows I have feelings for someone else." One of his hand cupped the side of her face, thumb slowly sliding across her bottom lip. "I have feelings for you, Aza."

"You're lying." The words just spilled out without any thought being put into them. "This isn't funny, Jon Snow."

"I'm not lying." Of course he would say that, liars always deny that they're lying, and he would be no different. "Do you think I kissed you for no reason at all?"

She wanted to say yes, but she cannot find it in her to be _that_ stubborn. The truth was sitting right in front of her face and she doesn't want to pretend to be blind anymore. Some conscious and selfless part of her felt that if Jon did return her feelings then it would be wise to pretend that he didn't. They were both breaking several vows and he was supposed to be honorable. Jon had forgotten his honor to his vows some time ago, however, and she wondered if she's fully to blame for that. "You really are touched in the head." Her laugh is breathy and her heart feels as if it is about to burst in her chest.

"When a man confesses their feelings, Aza, I don't believe he wants to hear that he's—" His words are bitter and he's growing vexed, so her lips catch his in efforts to silence him and reverse his shifting attitude.

It worked. He hadn't spoken another word since. She speculated if it is because he was too eager about kissing her again that he lost all train of the thought or suddenly lost the desire to keep talking. It seemed arrogant of her to assume that she is able to cease every thought of his with a single kiss. You're never supposed to know your power or else you would abuse it and Aza likes to abuse her strengths to overshadow her weaknesses.

His lips leave her mouth and he kisses down along her neck, tasting her skin. Her breath shuddered when she feels his teeth digging into her, which she is sure will leave visible marks. Aza never kissed anyone before and she never had someone close enough to even touch her neck so intimately. It was exciting and frightening all at once because she's so inexperienced in intimacy.

He climbed atop of her, shifting around his weight so all of it isn't directly on her. Her head wants to tilt, curious as to what was suddenly jabbing her stomach. She feels as if she knows what it is, but she wants to be sure. "Is that your—"

Jon yanked his hips away from hers. In an attempt to save face, he's pretending like he doesn't know what she was about to ask. He couldn't possibly get away with it now that his face is rosier than how the Northern wind would make it look. "I didn't mean to—It's just…"

"Is that why you like sleeping so close to me?" He scoffed at her question, almost like he can't believe she actually thinks that was his motivation. She'll speed them down the valley of an argument if she keeps going, so her curious hand skittered its way down his abdomen. He isn't wearing as many furs as he used to because neither does she. South of the Wall, currently in the full swing of Autumn, is less freezing than North of it and so tunic after tunic makes you unbearably hot than it makes you comfortably warm. Her fingers pressed into his rough-spun clothes, and his throat catches onto a sound she can't really put a name to.

"That isn't," his words are practically stringing together until he clears his throat, "the only reason." His breathing quickened when her palm grazed the straining shaft through his breeches. She knows the parts of a man after pretending to be one and being around them for as long as she had. She's not that naïve. "We shouldn't, we swore vows…" he reminded her. No, he's not reminding her, he's reminding himself. Aza, more inquisitive than honorbound, pressed the heel of her palm against him, and his knees practically buckle. "Nevermind," he groaned, burying his face into her neck, tasting the day's sweat on her skin again. "Keep going."

She wanted to laugh at how easily his mind changes all from a simple touch. Are all men this easy? No, probably not. Jon is a maid and that's why he gives in so easily. If he had been experienced, he would've put up a greater fight. It isn't that she's irresistible but because he's a man eight-and-ten and never been with a woman before. That's a long time compared to the many men she knew who lost their virginity even at the ages of four-and-ten. Some claimed younger, but men liked to lie about most of their experiences.

Her fingers caught onto him, cinch tight now that she's past his waistband. His hand slammed into the ground by her head, fingers digging in, gathering blades of grass and dirt. "Keep going," he mumbled into her hair, digging his nose against her scalp. "Keep going, Aza."

Her hips curl when he says her name. He has said her name over a thousand times in many different manners, but he's never said her name the way he had just now. His voice is thick with want and he wants her; only her. She does not have to worry if his thoughts are of someone else and she doesn't have to feel stupidly jealous. All the heat that's been flaring all over her, sparks the arousal that's taking over her and settling low in her stomach where it begs to be taken care of, somehow, some way—

Her exploratory tugs and squeezes increases the pace and he mumbles obscenities into her ear before catching her earlobe between his teeth. How could something like that be so pleasurable? Her ear feels like it's on fire like the rest of her body. He twitched in her pumping hand and it surprises her, wondering how he or _it_ is able to do that.

It startled her when his body become rigid and her entire hand up to her wrist is coated with something sticky and warm. She knows he climaxed or "spent his seed" as most men would say. He hadn't done it inside her like the stories she heard, but his seed is all over her hand like men who "tend" to themselves. She should've worn her gloves because as she pulled her hands away, she can't help but look at her hand and marvel at how she unraveled him.

 **JON**

"Bastard."

He laughed, hearing a whine laced with disappointment in her insult. "What was that?" he asked, brow arched and she sighs, squirming beneath him. After she brought him to a finish, he had teased her relentlessly. He kissed the corners of her mouth, alongside her cheek bone, and everywhere else that isn't her mouth. She wants more, she wants more than kisses, but he was having too much fun at her frustration.

"Nothing." He knows that she won't forget this and that she plans revenge, but her legs are shaking with need to fulfill the promise so soon.

He buried his lips in the crook of her neck, sucking in her scent that's intoxicating to him now. His hands are no longer are covered with gloves since he doesn't want them to touch her after one has been covered with dirt. He also truly wants to feel her skin under his own hands and she feels so warm that he's beginning to sweat from touching her alone.

He scrapes his nails along her wet folds, and she bites down on her lip to the near point of piercing flesh in order to keep herself from shouting. The worst thing that could happen is for the Wildlings to find out what they were doing right now. Tormund would tease them about it until the end of their days if he caught them like this.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, caging her hips with his thighs as he slides his fingers through her damp folds. She's wet, so much so, and he can't believe it is all comes her touching him. He pushed an exploratory finger in and it glides in smoothly up to the first knuckle.

She's clamping down on his finger whether it is willingly or accidentally. His finger is slick and warm to the bone. "T-That!" she cooed, her spine bowing. She lifted her hips until her muscles are straining. "More of _that_."

Jon nodded, all he can do is nod, because he's melting against her. The deeper he pushes his finger into her, the harder he becomes again. He's hard to the point of pain, hard to the point of making him grunt with anguish.

She rippled around him, tensing and relaxing. She moved her hips in tight little circles that make him wish the fire didn't die out so that he could see her expressions. He wants to see what he's doing to her. If it weren't so cold, they could be naked under the stars.

He curled his hips under hers, forcing her to grind over his crotch with each curl of his finger. He pressed his thumb onto her swollen bud of nerves, tracing senseless patterns against the patch of flesh. He wants to be inside of her so bad right now, he wants to slide his throbbing length into her in place of his finger.

And at the same time, he's almost…almost afraid of it. Sex is a commitment and they shouldn't be making commitments like this. He swirled his finger around inside and listened as her breaths deepen towards climax.

He isn't supposed to want her. He isn't supposed to love her.

Gods be damned.

He needs her. He wants her. He knows he loves her.

* * *

 **A/N** : I literally want to cry. I have over a 100 reviews and 200+ hundred follows? It's a first for me and I'm so happy! You guys make me the happiest, seriously. Sorry I was late with this update! I was choosing how I wanted to go with this chapter and decided all the action will be left for the next one because Chapter 10 sounds fitting for the Battle of Castle Black. I hope you all enjoyed it c:

I wish I could answer everyone, but I wanted to get this chapter out before I move all my important stuff to my new computer. I'll definitely get the chance to any questions after this one.


	11. Chapter 10: Before the Dawn Pt1

**AZA**

The boom across the vast, green valley had announced the start of what the dark sky promised. Her body spasmed with each loud crackle of thunder and her eyes squeezed shut so she didn't see the whip of lightning in the sky. Out of all the things to fear, she feared thunderstorms. Her hands covered her ears, her mind trying to wash away the fright in her like the rain was washing away the sweat and grime in her hair and on her skin. She hated to be afraid of things like this but she's afraid of things she can't control. She's afraid of things she can't stop or fight whether it be feelings or storms.

Nobody didn't seem to notice, the way she visibly flinched and the barely audible whimper that left her now and again. It was a good thing, for no one to see her fear. Aza doesn't want them to see her drowning in fright, barely breaking the surface to breathe the air of courage. She has to inhale again. The courage has to come back to her. She must brave through the storm.

Her thoughts on the old man who bred horses for the Watch were overshadowed by the storm. Jon wanted to save him, she knew he did, but the man could not be saved. Tormund wouldn't allow him to live and neither did the rest of the Wildlings find him worthy of life. He did nothing to them. He only ran, but they chased him down and dragged him back to give him death. Aza supposed she should feel the same way as Jon does, but watching the Wildlings made her remember who she once was. She killed innocent people, too. She was no saintly sellsword; she killed for a better living for herself. She killed because she thought it to be the better income because she had no family caste.

So watching the man be surrounded by all who wished to give him death made her realize just how horrible she once was. She still is, isn't she? She wore the life's blood of all the people she slain for years and that's because she wanted to. You don't ever stop wearing blood spilt on you from the wreckage of your own slaughter. It sinks into your skin and becomes a part of you. Your past shapes you and sometimes it can define you. She wished it didn't, and sometimes she was glad it did.

"I heard shouting up there!" Aza hadn't realized she was standing so close to Orell. Her mind tore itself away from its dark place, bringing her back to the stormy morning of reality.

"Thunder," Tormund dismissed it, thinking nothing of Orell's apparent paranoia.

"I know the difference between shouting and thunder."

"Maybe it's ghosts." Her eyes watched Tormund as he turned to face her, his brow hitching. "Did you hear anythin', Girl Crow?"

"I don't know." Aza tried to fight the droplets of rain that latched onto her eyelashes. They were starting to find their way into her eyes, especially if she didn't manage to bat her lashes fast enough. "I might've." Looking up at the tall tower and at the small window, she couldn't see anything for it was too dark inside. The thought of hiding in there for a short time to pull herself together had come to mind. "I'll go see what's inside."

"If you want." Tormund inclined his head to the tower. She looked back just once to see where Jon was, and she saw him standing over the old man with pity in his eyes. She wished he wiped the look away before the Wildlings caught sight. They wouldn't accept him being a sympathizer for a man he used to know. He was supposed to get rid of all feelings that he once held as a Night's Watchmen.

Her footsteps were light for she was trying her best not to sink her feet into the ground that became too much of a muddy mess. These boots were not meant to trail on thick and wet mud and she could easily get herself stuck if she wasn't careful. Her hand came to rest on the entrance door of the tower, listening for anything that could be behind the door for a few seconds. Aza glanced over at Tormund, who stood by Orell, and watched her. For Tormund to think it's merely ghosts in the tower, he seemed to want to watch her every movement. Pushing that thought aside, Aza eventually pushed the door open, trying not to flinch at the loud crackle of thunder. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hurried herself all the way in and let the door close itself.

The tower had a rather musty smell, a tell-tale sign that it was long since abandoned. It was dark and uninviting; like a good home for ghosts. Her eyes tried to scan the place, but she was barely able to see much except mold that seemed to eat away at the walls and flooring. There were even cobwebs laced in every single corner to show the lack of upkeep. It didn't seem as if another soul could possibly be in here and she wouldn't blame any person that thought this place unsafe and too creepy for temporary rest, but she was wrong. The sudden creak of the wooden floor above her head alerted her that she was not alone in this place.

Someone was up there.

The smarter thing to do was not investigate but leave. However, she doesn't do things simply, she's recklessly curious to a dangerous fault. Her fear of the storm outside was long since gone and all she felt now was an overwhelming desire to find out who or what is at the highest floor of this place. With her hand wrapped around Flyssa's handle, Aza decided to satiate her curiosity. What could go wrong? Despite not knowing how many people could be up there instead of assuming it is just one, she didn't feel all that threatened. She's too arrogant for her own good sometimes. She should know better than to think there isn't someone in this world who is more than capable of killing her.

It seemed fruitless to not notify whomever it was up there of her arrival, so she didn't mind her steps. They were bound to see her anyway and she didn't find it an issue if they prepared themselves for her. Aza kept her pace among these stairs that looked like they could fall apart in the next year, but she halted before she reached the top of the stairs.

"Don't. Move."

It was the voice of a woman, she realized, yet her eyes were solely trained on the sharp blade of a makeshift spear that was pointed dead centre at her neck. Aza slowly lifted her eyes to gaze up at the dark irises of a wild-haired woman, who wore a rather menacing expression. Aza then looked left, spotting a group of children. Three boys and one girl, and a rather husky man that reminded her of a small giant as he slept soundly against the tower's wall. The girl had an arrow aimed at her, almost as if she had been preparing to attack for a while. Aza was cornered and yet she didn't feel afraid. This didn't seem like a fight she couldn't handle.

"I'm not going to harm any of you," Aza stated coolly, looking back at the spearwoman again. It seemed as if she had a habit of wild women pointing their spears at her. "I heard a noise and I came to see the source of it."

"If you did not come to harm then you best hurry n' leave. The other Free Folk will come lookin' and we don't need that."

"You're a Wildling." Aza smirked as the woman's eyes seemed to narrow further, the blade of the spear was made to inch closer to her neck. "Wildlings only call themselves Free Folk," she stated.

"What of it?" The woman questioned, growing more annoyed by the minute. She was rather impatient and those are the kind of people you provoke because they leave easy openings. "Does it really matter?"

Aza supposed the woman had a point before figuring how it should be odd that there was one Wildling woman with four children who were obviously not kin. Who was she? Who were they? She shouldn't have cared, but her mind was too transfixed on seeking answers.

"Put your weapons down," said one of the older boys. "She won't harm us. She's a man of the Night's Watch." The curly-haired girl complied very reluctantly.

Now it was Aza's turn to be stunned and she whipped her head left at the boy who spoke. "How did you know?"

"I just know." His answer was simple and it made her feel uneasy. How could he know? She was dressed like a Wildling from head-to-toe and she was a girl. How could he possibly know she was part of the Watch? Just who was this boy to know such things?

"How could she be a man of the Night's Watch if she's a girl?" The second oldest boy questioned, eyes squinting in confusion. "Women aren't allowed to join."

"She pretends to be a man." Aza clenched her jaw tightly, wondering how this boy seemed to have known that as well. "She won't harm us." His eyes tore away from her for a time to gaze at the boy who questioned him. "She's close to your brother, Jon Snow. He's here. He's out there with the Wildlings."

The dark auburn-haired boy whipped his head to look at her. "You know Jon? Is he really out there? Why are the both of you with the Wildlings?"

"He and I…" How could she phrase this? Surely, Jon wouldn't have liked if she used the loose terms of lovers to his little brother. "He and I are friends," Aza answered him, feeling that was more appropriate than what she originally and frankly thought. "We're pretending to be one of the Wildlings. They're preparing to make their way past the Wall and your brother and I are fixin' to foil such plots."

The youngest boy got to his feet, grabbing Osha's arm. "Put the spear down, Osha. If she's friends with Jon then she's safe."

He was a cute, little thing. He had a head full of curls like Jon, but his hair was of a light brown and a bit more wilder. His bright eyes looked up at her, his lips still twitching in what looked to be a battle of staying thinned out or becoming a smile. He didn't trust her and she couldn't blame him. She was only grateful that he gave her a chance.

"The both of you are going back to the Wall?" Aza nodded in reply to the older boy's question. "Then Osha and Rickon should go with them."

"Wait!" Aza shook her head, confused now. "Why should they come with us and why aren't you three coming along too?"

The auburn-haired boy decided to answer, "I have to go North of the Wall."

"North of the Wall?" she echoed. "You don't want to go North of the Wall. North of the Wall is dangerous and Jon would—"

"Jon would be furious. He can't be furious if he doesn't know." Aza stood to full height, stunned at what he was suggesting. How could he dare ask her to keep such a secret? She already ruined and rebuilt his trust in her by hiding her gender from him for so long. Now to keep from him that his little brother was heading North of the Wall? He must've of been Brandon, the one they affectionately called Bran. Jon always said that Bran was brave and his bravery cost him his legs. He was crippled now but his bravery was still intact. "I must go North. I have to meet the Three-Eyed Raven."

"The Three-Eyed what?" Deeper in her confusion, she squinted, trying to think of what he could possibly mean. "I don't… I don't understand."

Brandon smiled some, amused by her lack of understanding. "I know how it sounds but he calls for me. I must go North and I beg you not to tell Jon or he'll look for me. You have to take Osha and Rickon with you and take them to Castle Black. Jon must know that Winterfell is lost but Rickon and I are not."

The little boy, Rickon, had turned to his brother in hurt. "You can't leave me, Bran! We have to go to Castle Black together."

"I can't, Rickon. I have do what is needed of me and Jon as well as Osha will keep you safe." His voice was soft, all the more warm to comfort his little brother. Aza watched as the hurt seem to grow more apparent on Rickon's face. He had been so dismayed that tears were prickling his eyes. He ended up nodding in defeat after a few quiet seconds of silent conversation with their eyes. "Now hurry before her absence makes them suspicious. Osha, take care of Rickon for me unless you wish for your freedom. Jon will take care of Rickon." Brandon gave her a sweet smile. "You don't have to stay with Rickon anymore."

The Wildling woman's face was of contemplation. She considered Brandon's words and then warily glanced back at Aza. "I won't leave until I know he's safe," she said, making Aza feel as if she was insinuating that she would do harm to the little boy. Aza rolled her eyes, looking away briefly to make sure she didn't say anything out of annoyance. "I really don't want t' leave you, Young Lord, but I see I can't convince you in givin' up on this Three-Eyed Raven."

"I know," said Brandon, "but I must do this and Rickon must be safe. Shaggydog will be with him as well."

 _Another wolf?_ Aza inwardly cringed, praying that it was an actual dog and not a direwolf.

By the time she glanced back at Brandon and Rickon, they were hugging and Brandon was whispering some words into Rickon's ear. Rickon pulled away, teary-eyed and looking up at Osha. "I'm ready." Gathering their things, the Wildling woman laid her hand on the boy's head and led him to the stairs after her. "Uh, lady…"

With a chuckle, she shook her head. "I am no lady, just Aza," she corrected him.

"Aza," Brandon repeated, making sure that he had said her name right. She gave him a quick nod, letting him know that he pronounced correctly. "Please don't tell Jon where I'm going or at least wait. I'll already be gone and he won't know where to look by the time you all make it back to Castle Black."

It still left a sour taste in her mouth to lie to Jon. She still wished to not do it. "As long as you promise not to get yourself killed. Your brother will never forgive me if you died out there." Even though there was a chance he would never forgive her for letting Brandon go North in the first place.

"I promise," he replied as if he knew it would be true. If he had been that confident then she wouldn't regret believing him. Aza had been a child once and a child that did a lot of things on their own. She wasn't sure what it was about that boy that knew too many things and the archer girl that was with him, but the giant man was sure to keep them safe.

Feeling content about how things would end up, Aza continued down the steps with Osha and Rickon trailing behind. Once she pushed the door open, she was greeted by Tormund, Orell, and Jon Snow. "Did you find anything?" Orell asked impatiently.

Aza turned her head to Jon, ignoring Orell, and gave him a slight smile as relief seemed to consume his features upon the sight of her. "Aye, I did." Going down the small steps, she held the door open for the little Stark and the woman behind him.

 **JON**

It felt as if his breath had been stolen from him. Even the heat that naturally emanated from his skin felt like it numbed all due to his shock instead of the chill of the rain. In a blink of an eye, Jon ran so quick. He ran so fast just to lift Rickon and keep his arms folded around his little back to draw him in as close as he could. It almost felt like if he doesn't hold Rickon close or long enough, he'll disappear and he would wake up, like it was just some dream that only served to hurt him. He dreamed of his family for many nights, wondering how they were as the war raged on. He missed Robb, Arya, Brandon, and Rickon the most.

But it's real. It isn't some painful dream. His little brother is in his arms, very real and very alive. He's still the little boy that Jon remembered saying goodbye to. He may have aged a year, but Rickon was still the same. The gods were being good to him for a second time and he felt fear begin to grow. They were being too good to him now, and just how long will it last? Over Rickon's shoulder, Aza's smiling face was all he could see. All the warmth her eyes could muster was shown to him, making him wonder what could ever be a sufficient enough thanks to show her how grateful he was?

"Who is the boy?" questioned Tormund once Jon had placed the boy back on his feet. Jon's eyes briefly left the gaze of his brother's to look up at Giantsbane. "Is he kin of yours? A Starkling?"

That reminded him that most of the Wildlings hadn't like his family and Tormund was one of them. Still, he couldn't lie about who Rickon was. The lie would be too obvious and the distrust would increase. "Aye," answered Jon, "he is. He's my youngest brother."

The redhead man bent down to level with Rickon, his head falling in a slight tilt. "What's a little lord like you doin' so far away from home?"

Tormund was intimidating by size and facial features, so Jon hadn't blamed Rickon's apparent fright. He took some steps back until he was closer to Jon, bound to use him as some sort of shield. "He won't hurt you, Rickon," Jon tried to calm him, smiling to help ease his brother's weariness. "I'd like to know the same." Jon had bent down, laying both his hands on his baby brother's very small shoulders. "Why aren't you in Winterfell? What are you even doing out here?"

Not even a second had passed before Rickon's eyes began to well up with tears. "They're all dead." The tears fell, sliding down his face as he tried to do his best not to sob. "He killed them. He took Ser Rodrik's head and the Maester was bleeding in the godswood. He killed them. He killed everyone."

Confused and shock, Jon's jaw slackened as he tried to process it all. He soon began to wipe away any tears that continued to pour out of Rickon's eyes. "Who killed them, Rickon? What happened to Winterfell?"

"Theon," Rickon managed to say despite his voice sounding ready to give out. "Theon came and he… he killed everyone."

Winterfell had been conquered. It was taken by none other than Theon Greyjoy. The words just couldn't sink in or perhaps Jon didn't want them to. The very idea of Winterfell being taken by the likes of Theon hadn't made any sense to him. Theon and Jon may have never been close and less than friendly with one another, but Theon was the foster brother of the Starks. He grew up in Winterfell and their father treated him like he was his own son. Robb had looked at him as an older brother as well as a best friend. Out of all the things he despised about Theon Greyjoy, Jon didn't take him for a traitor. He didn't think he had it in him to betray them like this.

Is this what he always planned? He always planned to take Winterfell when he had the golden opportunity? He wanted to finish what his true father had started and succeed him? There should've been a time when such plots should've been obvious to him, but Jon couldn't recall a time where suspicions should've arose. He couldn't even find it in his heart to fully blame himself for not seeing the turncloak that Theon would become or already was. Nobody had seen it coming. How did Robb feel if he knew about the betrayal yet? The very person he trusted the most had put a knife in him when his back was turned. Robb was or would be absolutely devastated.

Jon never felt so much rage, and rage he couldn't properly flood or place into anything. He had to control himself and be the strong brother that Rickon needed him to be. His baby brother had seen horrors and was forced to runaway from home. He did not need to see Jon incapable of handling his emotions. All Jon could do was pull Rickon into a tighter embrace, letting the boy cry onto his shoulder to rid himself the memories of the dark days he endured.

If Jon had went with Robb then just maybe…Maybe all of this could've been avoided.

"The mighty Starks have fallen," commented Orell, "and who thought I'd live t'see the day?"

Letting Rickon go, Jon stood flat on his feet in a hurry with heat in his slit-eyed glare. He spun and cocked back his arm, his balled-fist colliding straight into Orell's face. The Wildling warg fell onto his back from the force of the blow and without hesitation, Jon went down with him. He was more than ready to create a repetition of his fist meeting Orell's face. Hands shot forward, grabbing and pulling him off of Orell. Longspear was one of them and Tormund as well.

"That's enough, boy!" Tormund shouted in his ear. "Killing him won't change a thing!"

It wouldn't change anything, but he could finally get his revenge. Orell had threatened him constantly and nearly killed him at the Wall. Now he had a nerve to smile and speak so happily about the tragedy that befell his family and Winterfell? Jon wanted to kill him. He wanted Orell's blood and he was being denied it unfairly.

"If you want to kill someone then kill the old man!" Orell spat out some blood, getting himself on his feet. "You say you're one of us but you ain't know I did what I had to at the Wall. I thought we would die so I cut you and Ygritte off. You don't see her holdin' some grudge and it's because she knows. She knows we do what we must to survive. The old man is the real enemy. He'll tell the rest of the Crows we were here. If you really are one o' us then show us."

Tormund looked to him, nodding in agree. Longspear and the others kept their eyes on him, waiting and willing him to do what Orell wanted. Now this was the true test if he was one of them and he had unknowingly pushed himself into it. He allowed Orell to manipulate the situation into his favor. Jon turned to look at Aza, who stood by the unknown woman with Rickon. Her eyes were telling him to do it as well and he wondered if it was because she knew the man was going to die either way or because she felt he had no choice but to comply. The old man was unfortunate to be here when the Wildlings were. He knew that's what she would say if she decided to speak some sense into him.

He released Longclaw from its sheath and the weight of the sword seemed to have felt like it doubled in his grasp. It was his mind playing tricks on him, making the sword much heavier than it truly was because the weight of his actions did not match the resistance he felt about going through with this. The old man stared at him, undoubtedly afraid yet coming to accept that he would die.

Jon raised the Valyrian steel sword, pressing it to the man's neck. "She looks sharp," he said when he should've been pleading or praying. He should've been doing what most men are supposed to do when death was in their face.

"Do it," Ygritte urged him, having been silent for a while up until now. "You must. T' prove you are no Crow, but one o' the Free Folk."

"I told ya," Orell boasted. "He's still one of them."

"C'mon, boy!" Tormund's voice was of encouragement, but Jon could taste the flavor of mistrust seeping within. "C'mon!"

With both hands on the handle of Longclaw, he brought the sword back, and he kept it there. He couldn't kill him. No, it wasn't because he couldn't. He simply didn't want to.

The sudden scream had startled them and he saw Aza kick a Wildling off her sword after piercing him with it. Rickon was running off the woman with him, possibly on Aza's orders. The old man ran, but Ygritte's arrow drove itself right into his back and straight through his heart. Aza had created chaos in a means for them to escape, but the old man still had to be sacrificed.

"Crows!" spat Orell. "They will always be Crows!"

Jon's eyes met Tormund's, a look of anger and betrayal in his face. The words he uttered, he didn't want to say them, but he knew he had to. "Kill them!"

Orell came at him, bronze sword in hand, and met Jon's blade in a clash of bronze versus steel.

 **AZA**

She wished she could have gotten the chance to whisper her plan in Jon's ear, but they were surrounded by Wildlings. She first thought that Jon would come to terms that the old man couldn't receive the mercy he deserved, and yet his soft heart surprised her when it shouldn't have. In efforts to save him, Aza drew first blood right after she planned with Osha to take the old man's horses. A random Wildling was her sacrifice. His back had been directly in front of her and so she plunged her sword through his back and out his chest. It was hard to yank the sword of out of him since he was so bulky, so she was left with no choice but to raise her leg and kick him off.

Jon charged to fight Orell, cutting down three men in the process, and she took care of a few others on her own. A flash of black and a flash of golden brown whipped by, and her eyes adjusted in the rain to see they were direwolves. One had to be Rickon's and the other must've been Brandon's. They viciously tore out the throats of any Wildling they could tackle and she tore her eyes away out of disgust and fear. A line of grey whizzed in front of her and she was luckily unharmed since she jumped back quick enough. After righting her foot, her eyes met her attacker and she frowned almost instantly.

Tormund stood before her with his axe in his hand, hunched and ready to attack. His blue eyes were trained only on her own with his lips performing a deep frown. "You betrayed me." His voice was anger embedded, but she could detect the hurt somewhere in there.

His words stung her and she found her sword arm feeling heavy. Not only did betraying him seem to make her feel terrible, she knew how it felt to be in his shoes. Her mind flashed of memory of her face bearing the same expression as his; just staring in hurt and shock at the person you thought would never turn against you. "Its not you, Tormund." She hoped to soften the blow and yet it it felt like she was only fanning the flames. It sounded like a poor excuse and she couldn't blame him if his anger doubled. "You can pluck a bird of its feathers…" Aza gave a sad smile. "You can even break its wings, but it doesn't stop being a bird. A bird is still a bird. I'm a Crow and I never stopped being one."

He said nothing, jaw clenched and his gaze icy. "Put the sword down," Ygritte ordered, her bowstring pulled back as far it could go, and the arrowhead aimed directly at her.

Aza's sword wasn't raised but the Wildling girl wanted it to be laying on the ground. If Ygritte thought that Aza would comply, she was mistaken. "You owe me, Ygritte." Aza glanced at her from the corner of her eyes. "I saved you from falling to your death. You owe me."

"Ya should've killed me then." Before the arrow could be released, Tormund tackled Ygritte to the ground. Aza's eyes widened in shock, watching as Tormund and Ygritte wrestled in the wet and muddy ground.

"Go!" Tormund's voice boomed loudly and she felt the emotion of it quake through her. He saved her. He could've killed her and he easily could've let Ygritte do it if he could not, but he saved her. She felt a hand grab onto hers and pull her forward, her eyes immediately looked up at Jon Snow, whose face was bleeding from what looked like deep cuts. She didn't have the time to worry about his wounds since he helped her up onto a mare. He climbed on to the saddleless horse after her and steered it to go north, riding after Osha and Rickon, who were safely ahead with the direwolf running alongside them.

Aza kept looking back, watching how Ygritte managed to wriggle her way from Tormund's hold and scramble to get her bow and quiver. By the time she readied herself to fire again, they managed to get enough distance to make her lower her bow. Aza had to wonder if the distance was really too great or was this Ygritte's own way of returning the favor.

When the rain came to a stop and the sky was far too dark to continue their way to Castle Black, they decided to make camp for the night. They would ride again in the early morning, first light. Osha had took some herbs and used a rock to make it into an ointment for the talon wounds on Jon's face. He rested his head on Aza's lap as she used the flat side of her fingers to smear the green medicine across his wounds that were cleaned by the waters of the nearby shallow stream. They were stranded in the middle of a sea of tall and black grass, which was better than being in an open field.

"It burns," Jon hissed, wincing and moving every so often. "I know it's hard for you to be gentle but…"

Her expression became deadpanned. "Keep talkin' and you'll have to lay your head somewhere else."

Jon smiled and kept quiet, knowing that she very well meant what she said. "That was madness." Aza immediately knew he was talking about what happened earlier and she couldn't agree more. "It could have gone better."

"It could have." Shrugging her shoulders, she knew there was no point in thinking of how many ways they could've done better. "But it didn't. It was the only opportunity I saw." Her eyes glanced over to Rickon, curled up and asleep in her worn out sleeping skin. The boy needed the furs and the skin more than she did. Osha sat by him, guarding him, even though she could barely keep her eyes open. Every now and again, she would dart them around, becoming suddenly alert at random times until Aza promised she could get some rest. "When we reach Castle Black, we can't tell anyone who your brother is. If that Theon man took Winterfell then he's surely looking for him as well as Brandon."

His nod was absent and a faraway look consumed his eyes. It was almost like he didn't want to speak of Theon nor of what tragically became of Winterfell. She couldn't blame him. His home was taken from them by someone they had grown up with. It was hard to pinpoint how long Theon must've plotted this. Did he mean to take Winterfell since he was ten or did he only decide this after a certain incident? You could never know what could drive someone to betraying people they've known all their lives and even the people they loved.

"I'm sorry," Aza suddenly said, regretting she even said the Greyjoy's name, "about what happened to Winterfell."

"I still can't believe Winterfell is gone," he muttered, shifting to lie on his side so that he could stare directly at the dim fire that would soon die out. "Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, and many of the people I had known since I was a young boy are dead because of him. My father looked at him like he was his own son and this is what he does to the man who raised him?"

Jon wasn't looking for answers, he was only venting. The problem was, was that Aza believed she had no way with words. She couldn't brew up words of comfort that he needed to hear and had no idea of what could possibly make him feel at ease to some degree. She's good at fixing things with her hands, not with her words. "Your brother is King in the North," she found herself saying, trying to overcome the difficulty of comforting someone. "He'll reclaim it. Greyjoy waited until he was too far to stop him, yeah? When your brother is done bringing the Lannisters to the heel, he'll retake Winterfell and all will be right again."

The silence made her anxious and she inwardly began to question if her optimism was unwelcomed. Jon hadn't moved nor said a word, just staring away at the flickering embers. Normally, such a reaction would've annoyed her, but she couldn't bring herself to feel that way now. He needed to do what he did best and that was to brood. After all, it was still hard for him to process what happened and come to terms that many people he knew were gone. When he was ready, he would come to her, of that she was sure.

The storm clouds above them parted and the night sky hung over their heads again. The stars felt heavier than they usually did; like a thousand eyes were gazing down at them.

 **JON**

By mid-noon, they finally reached Castle Black, slowing the horses down to a halt before the gates. Jon never felt so relieved to see this place again. It was home to him now, especially since it was the only place he ever felt like he belonged. Winterfell was gone, but Winterfell was never his. He never belonged there and never should've been there and he loved it still. It still pained him to know it was gone. He had to move on for Castle Black was what he sealed his fate to.

He turned to look over his shoulder, soaking in the sight of Aza's head resting against him as she slept. Her hair was cropped and uneven since she had used Flyssa to cut most of her newly grown hair. She was back to looking like the Aza he first met and he had to wonder if being in Castle Black would change things between them. He loved her still, that hadn't changed, but such feelings would have to be discreet. If the men thought them to be lovers then problems would arise and all events could lead up to her secret being outed.

Jon never considered that loving her would put her in the utmost danger.

"Who comes?" asked one of the gatekeepers.

"Jon Snow!" Jon answered, immediately startling Aza awake. He watched her sit up almost instantly, brown eyes flung open so wide. Jon swallowed his laugh as she placed her hand over her heart, which must've been beating relatively fast. Her eyes sooner narrowed as the shock left and she gifted him a hard glare.

"Fuck you," Aza mumbled, voice heavy with sleep while furiously rubbing her eyes. He had not doubt she meant it, she was never kind when she was forced awake. He led the horse forward when the gates opened for them while looking left to see Osha and Rickon. Rickon was wide awake, eyes studying everything around them as they made their way into the courtyard.

People began to crowd them, familiar faces and others none so familiar. His eyes fell on Sam, who was beaming at the sight of him. As soon as he climbed down his horse with Aza following in tow, Sam crushed him in a hug.

"Where have you been?" Samwell asked as soon as he let go, hugging Aza next. She wasn't in the best of moods, but she did smile and return his hug, clapping his back twice. "You two have been gone for months and…" His eyes then took a gander of Osha and Rickon. Rickon soon stepped behind Osha, looking at the men of the Watch with wariness.

"It's a long story, Sam, and the Lord Commander should hear it first." Sam's smile completely fell, just that quickly everyone's expressions took on a sad one. Jon hadn't liked it. He hadn't liked how easily the happy mood that some of his friends had been wearing suddenly changed that quickly upon the mention of Mormont. Just what happened since he left Castle Black?

"Uhm…" Samwell hummed, looking down at the ground and then at his hands as he fiddled them. "Jon, Lord Commander Mormont is… He's dead."

He stilled, eyes widening at the news. Just how did the Old Bear die? Surely, he had some years still left in him. He hadn't been a frail old man and still could wield a sword and lead with a clear mind. It hadn't made any sense to hear that the man who was alive and healthy all those months back was suddenly dead. Jon knew Samwell couldn't be lying because Pypar and the others hung their heads too while others looked away in ways Jon couldn't understand.

"How?" questioned Jon. "How did he die?"

Sam looked as if he didn't want to answer and his eyes shifted to look at Aza, almost like he was pleading her to change the conversation or send him off. It annoyed him that his answers wouldn't be met when he wanted it, but he wouldn't throw a fit about it. There were others things of larger concern. Now that Mormont was dead, the acting Lord Commander, Maester Aemon, Ser Alliser, and Ser Jaremy needed to know what happened to the Halfhand and why he and Aza were gone for all these months.

"Who is the woman?" Pyp's curiosity had came at the wrong time. His eyes looked Osha up and down rather suggestively, though the woman gave him a sharp look and a sneer that made him flinch.

"Never mind who the woman is," Aza spoke up, sounding like she was back to her senses and not groggy with sleep. "If I see any of you mess with her, I won't stop her from killing any of you." Aza's gaze had then fell to Rickon, becoming mien as whenever she looked at him from what Jon noticed as of late. "Follow me, the both of you." Rickon looked at him for a moment before looking back at Aza and following her with Osha trailing behind.

The men parted as they walked forward, not one daring to say a word. One of them, however, reached out to touch Osha and within that instant, the Wildling used the blunt end of her spear to jab them directly in the throat. Jon watched him fall into a choking fit, holding the spot where she had hit him. Despite them all being warned, they tried anyway, and Jon was glad Osha made an example out of him. The others would learn that rapers would not succeed here.

"I'll tell the Maester that you've returned," said Sam, leaving Jon in the courtyard with the rest of their brothers.

"Buckwell says he saw you and Aza with the Wildlings." Jon hadn't been surprised, but he wished Buckwell saw wrong. "Is it true?" Pypar urged, wanting to know the detail of the months Jon hadn't returned with the other rangers.

"Aye." Providing an honest answer wouldn't change anything. Their eyes had already began to harden with mistrust, especially those that loathed the Wildlings like no other. "I was with them because the Halfhand told me to. He told me to be one of them and that's what I did to survive."

He didn't owe them any explanations. Still, the idea of them thinking him a turncloak made his blood boil. Theon Greyjoy was a real turncloak, not him. Jon was a Crow and he never stopped being one. Not wanting to explain himself when he hadn't need to, he left, hoping to get a proper bath and rid himself of these Wildling clothes. He hoped to burn them and forget. He hoped to forget the Wildlings he almost deemed friends. He hoped to forget that if it weren't for the Wildlings, he wouldn't have known Aza was a girl nor discover the depth of his feelings for her. He didn't want to owe them anything and he didn't want his heart soft for them. He was home again. He was back where he belonged. He was to hate the Wildlings, and war against them with a hardened heart that showed them no empathy.

Shaggydog went to the stables, smelling the spot where Ghost used to rest. He whined, missing his brother, but allowed Jon to calm him with a few rubs on his head and some calming words. It seemed as though the direwolf still remembered him and trusted him because he hadn't growled nor bared his teeth like the wolf had done so with many others. He was a hostile thing and he needed to be kept in the stables in case he decided he hadn't like one of his black brothers.

When he locked Shaggydog carefully away, he hadn't heard any complaints, instead the direwolf remained guarded. It seemed as though as it was saying he trusted where Jon placed him yet he would still harm anyone who came even an inch near him.

 **AZA**

Castle Black didn't feel the same.

It could never be when they found out that Lord Commander Mormont was dead and that some of their friends were held hostage with the mutineers. Rowan escaped, just barely, and some that ran with him died. He said that Rast and Karl were the ones who really killed Mormont and Craster. Karl stabbed Craster in the mouth while Rast stabbed the Old Bear in the back before repeatedly stabbing him in the chest. Jon should know, she couldn't help but think, and she didn't doubt he would want to seek vengeance if he were to find out. She even wanted to seek vengeance for the Old Bear herself, but she knew she wouldn't get away with it as long as Ser Alliser Thorne was acting Lord Commander. Even if a true Lord Commander was elected, she doubted they would condone revenge in the hands of a ranger.

Ser Alliser ( actually Maester Aemon ) allowed them a day to eat, bathe, and sleep before he would question them and she had spent her time rehearsing with Rickon over his lines. He lacked some emotion, especially during the bit where he should mention his mother and father died. It pained her to ask him to use the memory of his real deceased father, which instantly reduced him to tears. Despite the guilt that consumed her for it, she knew it would be more convincing if a boy of seven began to cry if made to remember the death of people he loved.

His direwolf had joined them when they found the Kingsroad, and Shaggydog was much more menacing and frightening than Ghost ever was in her eyes. He was a big, dark wolf that snarled at anyone who even looked at him. Aza was too afraid to even turn her head in his direction out of fear he might rip out her throat like he done to some of the Wildlings. Rickon tried to convince her that he simply doesn't like strangers and he would warm up to her and everyone else, but she doubted that. She hadn't even gotten the chance to reunite with the white wolf. Rowan informed her that he hadn't seen Ghost since Craster's Keep.

"You really do look like a boy," Rickon mused as she tightened some of the laces of his new clothes of black. He stood obediently, hadn't moved a muscle, but his eyes roamed all over her face and clothes. He engaged her with conversations often while hardly saying a thing to anyone else who weren't Jon or Osha. The boy lacked trust and she couldn't blame him. A person they trusted for years destroyed their home and murdered people they loved. "Mother said boys and girls are different in lots of ways. My sister Arya told me that we don't even use our chamber pots the same way. Is that true or was she lying to me? Arya used to tell me things because she thought it funny if I believed her."

Rickon didn't know much about female anatomy and she supposed that was a subject too mature for a half-baby noble boy. Aza learned at a relatively young age herself, but her experience in learning the difference in bodies and their functions shouldn't be projected onto him. At least, that's what she thought with good conscience.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" She hadn't realized her reservations had been so obvious. "Is it something I talk to Jon about?"

"It's something you learn when you're much older, Little Lord," Aza told him softly, hoping her words would subdue him from such thoughts for a while. He nodded, proving he understood that much, as she stood up. "Your sister was right, though." She could satiate just an ounce of his curiosity. Just this one. "And so was your mother." He grinned, glad to know he had not been deceived. "Remember, when we leave these rooms, you're to answer to Asher. Do you understand?"

"I understand." The door of the infirmary opened and Donal Noye came walking in. Aza was glad to see him and his smile made her feel that he felt the same.

"Been a long while, Aza," he said before looking down at Rickon. "I need to have conversation with your friend, boy. Ser Alliser and Maester Aemon will see to you. Just ask anyone and they'll lead you the way."

Aza could tell that the young Stark was uncomfortable of having to leave without her and interact with someone else. His frown was apparent and he looked at her, hoping she wouldn't let him go alone. "Just wait outside, Asher." His lips thinned before gave a solemn nod, leaving the infirmary so that it was just her and Noye.

Once the door closed, Aza felt tension she hadn't noticed was even there. She wasn't even the slightest bit sure of why Donal wanted to speak to her alone. She really wanted to see Rykker, which she hoped happened after Donal said whatever he had to say. "I'm sure you're aware that I know you and Jon became Wildlings over the Wall." Jarmen Buckwell's words must've planted a seed in Noye's head. He was suspicious of her just like the rest of them were.

Aza sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the wall. "You would rather we die?" she asked, brow arched. "Jon and I did what we had to for us to survive under Qhorin Halfhand's orders."

"He told you to laugh with the Wildlings? He said for you to ride with them and eat with them? He said for you—"

"I was taught to be a Shield of Men," Aza interrupted him, trying to keep her calm, but her obvious annoyance was becoming much too profound in her voice. She thought Donal better to let hearsay cloud his judgement. "You know what it means to be a Shield of Men, don't you, Noye? You know that Ser Jaremy taught me that and you know Qhorin would rather die if he knew he could trust people to get inside information of Mance Rayder. So aye, I laughed with them, rode with them, and ate with them. I even bathed with them. I was a Crow wearing the skins of a Wildling and if you don't trust me then don't fucking trust me. I wouldn't have came back if I wanted to be one of them."

Rykker would believe her. He would know her heart and how it was with Castle Black and not the Wildlings. He would trust her words without doubt. He wouldn't let Jarmen Buckwell's words of what he seen warp what he knew of her. She wanted him to come back. She wanted Rykker to leave Longbarrow and come back to Castle Black. Jon couldn't defend her now, he was just as guilty, but Jaremy would surely know that she would never be a turncloak.

Donal stared at her for some time, giving much thought to her words. Aza was already done with this conversation and she knew Thorne was bound to insinuate the same thing. Their interrogations and distrust meant nothing to her. She wouldn't kiss their feet just to have their silly and fragile trust. Why would she want it? The Old Bear paid the ultimate price for trusting scums anyway.

With a sigh, the armorer shook his head in a rather chiding manner, which matched well with what he said. "Getting defensive while someone questions you only makes you seem guilty of the crimes, Aza. Thorne will doubt you and think every word you speak is a lie."

"Fuck Thorne and I wish he were dead instead of Mormont!" she shouted, not daring to take back her words. She regretted, just a little, for raising her voice at him when all a majority of her anger was directed at another. "I'll even tell him that to his face if I have to. He's been wanting my head from my shoulders since he first met me. I'm not kissin' his ass! If I didn't do it then, I'm sure not doin' it now!"

Noye stared away from her, giving her no indication to how he felt. "How will you survive if you don't compromise? It is hard, trust me, I've been just as iron-willed as you, but you can't keep burning that brightly. I fear for you, boy."

She was tired of old men trying to change her, wanting to force her to compromise and control her temper while disrespecting her and deeming her a liar. What was the point? It didn't matter if she was civil or not. They thought what they thought, and she wasn't going to fight to change it. "I haven't changed, I won't change, and I'm never going to change." Stubborn as she was being, she would not take it back. "You don't have to believe in me nor worry of my years of life, but if you need to believe in someone then believe in Jon Snow."

They didn't have to believe her; Thorne, Noye or Aemon and everyone else. They only had to believe Jon. "You still fight for him when your own head is between the anvil and the hammer?"

"I will always fight for Jon Snow." She hadn't meant to say that. What if Donal took her words for what they were? Romantic. Aza's eyes looked at him, shakily, as Donal's expression was one of absolute suspicion.

"If I hadn't known any better, I'd peg you two for lovers," Noye laughed, dismissing the idea entirely, and Aza laughed too, except rather nervously. "He is a pretty lad, even with that scar on his face now. Even when gettin' his pretty face cut, it hadn't changed a damn thing." Her laugh still didn't even sound genuine, at least Noye was too wrapped up in his own amusement to notice. "Devotion is a good thing, Aza." Noye clapped her shoulder, bringing her in for a one-armed hug. "Devotion is deadly, too. Follow your Snow friend, Aza, but just don't go following him to an early grave."

Even he too thought that Jon Snow didn't seem like he had a long life ahead him. It hurt her to know that someone else thought the same way as she did. Her smile was a sad one as she gazed up at Donal. "I'd follow him to an early grave. I'd follow him anywhere…"

The armorer went quiet, arm not at all loosening its hold on her. It didn't feel like he would keep her there for any other reason than to subtly comfort her. She wasn't even sure why she felt sad or why her own words had that kind of affect on her.

"G'on, get to movin'." Inclining his head to the door, Aza gave him a stern nod and made her way out of the infirmary to see Rickon standing by the door. He looked bored as he leaned his back against the Wall before he noticed her.

"Finally!" Aza laughed as he beamed up at her and she tousled his hair.

"C'mon, Little Lord. You and I have some stories to tell, yeah?" At first he reached for her hand and then suddenly stopped himself. He must've remembered that he doesn't hold any of their hands like a baby would. Aza caught the mistake and couldn't help but to find it cute. No matter what any of them said, he was a baby and should be treated as such, but the Wall makes a man out of you, no matter how old you may be.

Rickon made conversation as they made their way to the panel of the five sworn brothers. Aza had opened the door, letting Rickon waltz in first as she shortly came in behind him. Jon was already there and must've already testified. Ser Alliser's face was nothing short of heated and Maester Aemon seemed as if he was quite through with this meeting already. Rykker looked at her when she entered and she suddenly felt like a child under his gaze. He made no expression except for the short-lived warmth in his eyes that suddenly went away and he became who he needed to be again.

"First," Alliser began, "who is the boy and the woman that came with you both."

Aza looked at Rickon, thinking he could explain it himself. Rickon swallowed thickly before stepping forward. "Me and Osha were from a village in the Gift, m'lord." The corner of her lips rose as Rickon took to lowborn speech like he was taught.

"There are no lords here, young boy." Aemon's head tilted forward slightly as he corrected Rickon.

"Aye, Maester." The boy sounded genuinely apologetic before continuing. "The village was raided by the Wildlings and they… they killed me mum and pa." On cue, Rickon let the tears roll down as Jon and herself looked at one another, hoping that Rickon's performance was working. "They killed them and… and I ran. I ran and ran, but Osha found me and said she'll take us to Castle Black. She was sure you'd take care o' us. An old man who breeded horses for the Watch took us in and then the Wildlings came again… Aza and Jon Snow were with them and promised to take us to Castle Black after killing a few o' 'em to escape."

"That must've been quite traumatic for you, young one." The Maester was kind, his heart warming to Rickon's not-so true story. "The Watch takes in those in need. You might even grow to be a man of the Watch yourself." Aza hoped that wasn't the case. Rickon should go back home when Robb reclaimed it. "He and the woman can stay."

Alliser frowned, deeply. "The woman will be a distraction to the boys."

"The boys are already distracted by the girls of Mole's Town," Aemon dismissed it, and she smiled. Rickon looked to Aza and she looked back at him, a silent conversation of praises back and forth between their eyes.

"Go, boy." Ser Alliser sent him off. "You'll be gettin' some chores. I can't have you running around doing nothing."

Relieved, she watched Rickon reluctantly leave the room, and hopefully knew his way back to the cell she told him to stay in. Osha was made to work in the kitchens with Gilly, who Aza was surprised to know was here. She hadn't seen her yet, but Aza looked forward to seeing how the girl was since her escape from her now dead father's clutches.

Now it was her turn to testify of the events of what happened North of the Wall. She had no idea of what Jon had told them and she had to rely on her own words and quick thinking. Aza, still, however, refused to show herself being nervous by this. She still didn't care how Ser Alliser saw her and she didn't know who the bald white-bearded man was. Who was he? Why was he even sitting at the panel of the sworn brothers?

"Tell us all that happened with Qhorin Halfhand," Throne demanded, his voice holding no room for her to speak of nothing that wasn't pertaining to Qhorin.

Aza inhaled deeply before purging herself of the tension-filled air she breathed in. "We went with the Halfhand to the lookout after we met up with him; Jon and I and a few of Qhorin's men from the Shadow Tower. We killed most of the Wildlings at the lookout, but one slipped away. Jon and I got separated from Qhorin on the way back to the Fist to meet back up with the Lord Commander and the rangers. We were forced to make camp and when we woke, we were surrounded by Wildlings."

"How did the two of you get separated from Qhorin in the first place?" Rykker suddenly asked, making a bridge with his hands and resting his chin on top of it. He was studying her, making sure she was telling the complete truth.

How was she to answer that? That she and Jon got into an argument because he couldn't kill a girl? "We got into an argument. I blamed him for being the reason that the Wildling got away." Jon's eyed her as she spoke her rather half-truth. At least she hadn't mentioned that said Wildling was a girl, and a girl that would undoubtedly chase him throughout the entire time they moved with Mance Rayder. "We got so wrapped up in our argument that we lost Qhorin."

"A bunch of foolish children was what you two were being…" Alliser scolded as if they hadn't paid the price for their actions already. Aza bit her cheek to prevent her from saying anything that shouldn't be said. It would be petty to insult him over something like this. Aza did, however, enjoy being petty towards him except this wasn't the right time.

"The Wildlings that took us had already captured Qhorin and killed all his men," she continued her story, hoping for no interruptions. The Halfhand's face came to mind as she remembered him with his wrists bound and made to sit on his knees on the cold surface of the frozen lake. Aza wished she realized back then that he wore the face of a man ready to die. "We were taken to a man called Rattleshirt or Lord of Bones, whichever it is you wish to call him, then they thought to take the three of us to Mance and let him choose if we were to live or die. On our way, Qhorin devised a plan for Jon to kill him. He made a scene, capturing all the Wildlings' attention, and stole a sword and swung it at Jon. He wanted them to think that Jon was a traitor to the Watch. He even impaled himself with Jon's blade. He was truly being a Shield of Men by sacrificing himself. He wanted us to become Wildlings so that we could gather information from the inside and when the time was ripe, we'd make it back to Castle Black and tell you all of Mance's plans."

Ser Alliser turned his head to Aemon and Rykker did as well. "He told the truth," the Maester declared.

Aza stood there, confused, wondering how Aemon even knew that she didn't lie. If he could spot lies then he surely spotted Rickon's and yet he let the boy go. She would have to ask him his reasons or might have to end up admitting the truth of who the boy really was. Surely Aemon wouldn't give up Rickon and send him to Theon Greyjoy's clutches. At least she hoped not.

"Jon Snow says there's a 100,000 Wildlings," Rykker looked at Aza, right into her eyes as he spoke."Is that true?"

"Aye." Aza didn't bother to lie or hesitate. "He's gathered every Wildling clan there is, and there's even giants with them, too. One was named Wun Wun and the other Mag the Mighty, I know because Wun Wun let me sit on his shoulder once." Aza shouldn't have spoke so fondly of the memory because it only made Rykker brows furrow.

The bald man who she didn't know frowned intensely. He seemed rather afraid or vexed, she couldn't really tell. She halfway didn't care how he felt either. "I have a question…" She finally decided to ask what was briefly on her mind. "Who the fuck is he?" She pointed at him, not bothering to care if it was seen as rude or not. It was rude that this man was judging her anyway, especially since she didn't know who he was and he had no position of power or at least he shouldn't have one.

"Mind your tongue, Yearling," Alliser warned her as the man she asked about made his face wrinkle with annoyance. His eyes were looking down at her as if she was no better than the dirt beneath his feet. With his haughty attitude, she knew straight away that she hadn't like him. "This is Ser Janos Slynt, a former—"

"I just realized something, Ser Alliser," Aza's eyes lazily looked at the acting Lord Commander as she interrupted him. "I don't really care who he is anymore."

The other men began to snicker and she saw Jon Snow smiling from her peripherals. Janos Slynt hadn't taken kindly to her words and Ser Alliser seemed more irritated with her than ever. "You think this is funny, Aza?" Thorne asked, startling her since he never said her name before. "You think you're really funny, don't you?"

"I think I am pretty funny, don't you think so?" Slamming his fist onto the table, Ser Alliser seemed to quiet every hint of a muffled laugh that echoed in the room. She hadn't flinched and continued to keep her eyes leveled with him, which further aggravated him. "Can I go now? I've told you all I know. I would rather go back to being under the commands of my officer."

"The both of you may leave," Aemon dismissed them and she wasn't sure if it was for her sake or for the sake of not making Ser Alliser leap over the table and attack her. "But I want the two of you to see me later. We have much to discuss." She had a feeling that it had something to do with Rickon's story.

Aza had left the room with a stiff bow of her head, wondering if Rykker would berate her for speaking recklessly to Throne. Now that he was acting Commander due to Mormont's death, she was sure he wasn't going to let her mouthy behavior slide. She did push her boundaries, she realized, but her lack of caring for anything concerning Throne only provoked her to speak as how she usually would towards him. She could've done better. She could've swallowed her pride and conducted herself as she should, but it had been too difficult.

"You took it too far," Jon told her as he shut the door behind him. "Thorne is the acting Lord Commander, and he'll definitely make you pay for that."

"I've been through worse." Folding her arms, she looked up at him defiantly. "I've climbed the Wall, killed a Wight, and laid my head near giants that wanted to squash me with their hands. I'm sure whatever Thorne dishes out, I can take it just fine."

He was supposed to be lecturing her and yet she eased him on out of it. If only it was that easy all the time. "There really isn't a man alive that can tell you what to do." He shook his head, smiling after speaking an observation he should've known long ago.

"Well, I wouldn't mind _you_ telling me what to do." Her eyes crinkled mischievously as she watched the rosy tint come across his face. It wasn't due to the cold wind either. "Still doesn't mean I'll listen."

"You never listen to me," he chided her playfully. "I don't even know why I bother half the time."

"Because you like me." Knowing her power, she grasped it by the reins and steered it against him. His smile let her know that it was truly the reason of why he let her get away with half of the things she pulled.

Brandon had come across her mind, especially once she saw Rickon in the courtyard with Rowan. She watched him put a bow in the boy's hand, trying to give him a little lesson in archery. Rickon was only seven, but it was a good time as any to start. Now would be the right time to tell Jon the truth that Brandon went North. She knew Jon would hate what she had done, but she also knew she couldn't keep it from him forever.

"We need to talk." Aza looked up at him as he kept his eyes focused on Rickon.

"What about?" He hadn't noticed the serious tone in her voice, he was too busy watching Rickon struggle to keep his bow arm steady.

The Sworn Brothers would eventually leave the room after they finished discussing what to do with the information Jon and herself told them. "Come with me to the Vaults." She briefly looked behind her at the door that had yet to open. "It's… it's best said in private."

He stared at her for a while, possibly contemplating the severity of the topic before he nodded and ended up leading the way. Their walk to the Wormwalks was a quiet one, neither one saying a word as she watched her steps. It was easy to step on a rat or their tail, and she always felt bad about it whenever it rarely occurred. Ghost used to chase them, scaring them off, and Aza wondered if he knew her worries about hurting them or because he just liked to bother them.

"The library will be better," he suggested. "Sam is in the Maester's rookery and Gilly is in the kitchens with Osha." Aza nodded in agree, knowing that speaking in the passageway wasn't all that safe. If she was speaking about Brandon Stark, it needed to be done where not a single person could hear them.

He kept the door open for her, allowing her first entry. She snorted at the gentlemen gesture, especially since it was a first. Once she heard the door shut, she turned to face him just to have her bottom lip captured in a kiss. His tongue had eagerly slid past her teeth to taint the innocence of what started as a simple kiss. It stunned her to think that Jon thought her request for them to speak privately was a code for them to find a secluded place to kiss, which she hadn't thought to do at all.

Brandon was slipping from her mind as she hooked her arms over his shoulders, letting her mind get cloudy over something that could wait. His hands soon found themselves gripping the back of her thighs to hoist her up and lay her down onto one of the empty desks. Her arms threaded themselves around his neck, cushioning her breasts against his chest so that no space was between them. It was wrong. She had to tell him the truth of where Brandon had gone, but the spontaneity and the heat of his kiss had completely distracted her, like a sexually frustrated teenager, in which they both were.

Despite her frustrations, she was mentally stronger than this. Her conscience kept filtering through the lust-filled fog to remind her what she intended to do. Jon had to know where Brandon was going and how she met him in the tower. She couldn't let this stay a secret; selfish as she was, she _just_ couldn't find it in herself to forget the dangerous predicament a child was in. Aza yanked her lips away from him, half reluctantly and half gladly. Her fingers hovered over the back of his neck, training herself not to touch him no matter how close he was. If she touched him, she'd lose the self-restraint she held, _but he was so close._ He was close enough that she could see how long his eyelashes really were, she could even see the faint scar below and above his left eye from the Talon wounds of Orell's eagle. He was still pretty just as Donal Noye had said and the scars only increased her attraction towards him.

"I truly meant when I said I had something to tell you." Her voice was shaky, her mind trying to tell her that she would rather him kiss her than have him yell at her. If he knew she kept another secret, especially one about his own brother, Aza was starting to fear he might not forgive her. He might even hate her for it. The last thing she ever wanted was for Jon Snow to hate her.

"I thought you meant…" he stumbled in speech, seemingly embarrassed that he took her words for something else. Aza chuckled, marveling at how a man-grown could be cutesy when he is flustered.

"I wish I meant what you thought," she said with a smile, her fingers settling to twine a lock of his curly hair instead. "If I knew it was that easy for us to find a place to be like this then I would've thought of it yesterday."

He dipped his head, letting his forehead touch hers. "It'll be hard to kiss you now that we're in Castle Black. I just want to steal any moment I can before…"

"Before Mance Rayder arrives." A hundred thousand Wildlings against the few of them. The odds were strongly against them, even though they knew what was to happen and how to prepare themselves. The Stranger was hovering over Castle Black, ready and waiting, and the thought of either one of them dying was a fear they wished would leave them.

"What is that you wanted to tell me?" Jon asked, pulling himself away from her so that he could stand upright and she could sit up on the desk. "Did something happen?" Biting down on her lip, Aza tried to think of how she should properly explain. Perhaps it was the length she allowed silence to hang in the air was the reason why he began grow frustrated and paranoid. "You've been keeping another secret, haven't you?" Aza cursed under her breath, seeing how this already was starting to go downhill. "I thought we were finished with secrets?"

"We are," she mumbled weakly, her eyes looking down at her hands she couldn't help but fiddle, "but your brother wanted me to keep this from you."

"Rickon?" Jon questioned, brow hitched. "What secret could Rickon possibly want you to keep from me?"

"I never said it was Rickon," she clarified and once she lifted her eyes to look at him instead of the floor, she saw his eyes widen with realization.

"Bran…" He shook his head with disbelief. "Bran was in the tower, wasn't he?" He knew the answer and yet he questioned her anyway. She wasn't sure what he was trying to prove unless he truly hoped she didn't really deceive him into thinking it was just Rickon and Osha in that tower. "Is he…?" he began to say, thinking the worse. "Did he…?"

Aza shook her head furiously, waving her hands dismissively. "No, he's alive and well," she quickly explained, letting him breathe out a sigh of relief. "He really didn't want me to tell you where he was going…" She wouldn't put all the blame on Brandon. She could easily say she wanted to tell him the truth but his brother insisted not to unless she told him when they arrived at Castle Black. It was her decision to let Brandon go North, and she would stick by it. "I agreed with him on the condition I tell you once we were back in Castle Black."

"Where is he? Did he go to the Umbers or possibly Skagos? Did he go to someone he knew that would be loyal to the Starks, even now?" He knitted his brows together once she shook her head, denying all the possibilities of where Brandon should've went that he mentioned. "Then where is he?" he urged.

"North."

"North?" Jon repeated, confused. "We're in the North. How much—" He stopped himself, understanding how much North she meant now. "He went _North_ of the Wall?"

Her nod was feeble. Aza lacked the courage to look him in his eyes again. "He kept talking about this Three-Eyed-Raven and how he had to see him. I don't know who or what the Three-Eyed-Raven is, but your brother was set on finding him."

"You let my crippled brother convince you into letting him go _North_ of the Wall?!" Aza visibly flinched at his shout. It wasn't because of the volume, it was because of how blatant his anger towards her was. Aza still hadn't regret letting Brandon go. Something in her gut had told her that she made the right decision. "You let him go chase some Three-Eyed-Raven?!" He began to pace, obviously worried about his little brother and how close he was to seeing him again just to be fooled. "You know what's out there, Aza! You know what I saw… You _know_ it was real!"

"What in Seven hells makes you think Brandon should be out there?!" His anger now certainly didn't compare to anything like before. The feeling that he wouldn't forgive her was certainly growing. "He's probably already passed the Wall. I have to find him." Before he stormed out of the library, Aza jumped down from the desk, sprinting towards him to grab his wrist to keep him from leaving.

"There was a boy and a girl with him!" As if letting him know Brandon wasn't alone would change anything. "The boy… He knew things. He knew things he shouldn't have known about me. He even knew you were outside…" Jon's eyes hadn't stopped glaring at her, not even for a second. "Your brother… he believes in this Three-Eyed-Raven, and I… I believe him, too."

Her words hadn't remedied their argument. In fact, she made it even worse. "Bran is only one-and-ten, Aza. He's crippled, he can't walk, and he can't run!" Aza looked away, knowing how the picture didn't quite align to how she thought it would all play out. "How will he survive out there?! Tell me! Tell me how he'll survive out there when he can't run or walk?"

"There was a man with them, too…" she mentioned. "He was quite big, like a giant. I thought he'd keep Brandon and the other two safe."

Jon tightened jaw had slackened some. "It must've been Hodor." He leaned against the library door, sighing for a second time. "Robb is dead." Aza stiffened, eyes widening in shock. "He was betrayed by Lord Walder Frey at the Twins and stabbed in the heart by Lord Roose Bolton." Betrayed, twice. Three times if you remembered Theon Greyjoy taking Winterfell. "Bran is supposed to be the King in the North now. He's just a boy…"

"Then he's better farther north than he is anywhere near Winterfell," she said softly while gathering his hands. The North was dangerous and what lied beyond were what people thought to be myths. However, she would rather the boy do what he wanted than be slaughtered because of his Stark name. It was by the grace of the Seven or maybe even luck that Rickon was with them or else he would be killed as well.

"Why didn't you tell me about Robb?" Aza had a right to be angry that he had kept that from her. The only reason why she couldn't feel herself wanting to be was because Jon buries his pain. She knows that. She had known that ever since she came to know him. He buries it and distracts himself, whether it's by brooding or only focusing on the Watch. "We should be sharing our pain, not hiding it. I don't know what it is about me that you won't come to me when you're hurting, but—"

"It isn't you, Aza…" Jon admitted gently. "It was never you." She had a half a mind to not believe him and she hadn't realized that she wore what she thought on her face. "I've never had anyone to share my burdens with. Robb could've told you how I was always brooding in a corner somewhere, just being miserable while my brothers and sisters played and had fun. I never told my father how I felt because I didn't want him to blame himself for any of it. I didn't want him to ever think that bringing me to Winterfell was a mistake. It was, but I wanted him to be proud of it. I wanted to be his best mistake after everyone thought of me the worst."

He made it hard for her to stay so angry, especially when he is so pitiful like that. Her hand that balled up in a fist, that wanted to hit him for being a hypocrite, remained at her side and gradually loosened. Aza sighed and took some steps forward, winding her arms around him to embrace him. "I hate you, Jon Snow." She truly meant the opposite because 'I love you' is considered precious to her and she's too afraid to say it yet. When she finds the courage to look him in the eye and say those three words, she doesn't want to feel like it had been a mistake or the moment too meaningless. It never came to mind that there's a chance she could say it too late.

 **JON**

"That was quite the performance the boy gave," said the Maester as he was helped to his chair by Sam, "but I've heard better." Jon lowered his head, feeling quite foolish to think that they could fool Aemon. They said the man always knows when someone is lying, but Jon hadn't thought it true until now. "Tell me the truth concerning this Asher child." From the corner of Jon's eyes, he looked at Aza, who was looking right back at him.

"Don't look at me," Aza huffed, " _you_ should tell him."

Even though Aza was the one who found him, Rickon was still his brother and of his responsibility. He was just afraid that if he informed Aemon that Asher was really Rickon Stark then he would send the boy back to Winterfell, telling him that it was wrong of him to get involved with politics of the realm. He would even say that Jon forgot that he had forsaken the Stark family for the brotherhood.

"Maester…" Jon began to say, hesitating some. "The boy is my youngest brother, Rickon Stark." Aemon hummed in surprise, slightly adjusting himself in his seat as he listened to Jon'a plea. "Winterfell was taken by Theon Greyjoy and now it belongs to the Boltons. If my brother is found, they'll kill him. They'll think of him as a threat."

"That is true," Aemon agreed, "but you do remember that Rickon Stark is no longer your brother? Your brothers are those of the Watch, Jon Snow. You do not have the Stark blood any longer. When you said your vows, your blood became black."

"He's just a boy, Maester, and I may have dedicated my life to the Watch, but Rickon—"

"Asher, however, is a boy seeking refuge in Castle Black after Wildlings raided his home and killed his mother and father. He may one day be one of us if he wishes to take the vows or he may want to venture off once he can survive on his own." Jon stilled in his surprise as a half smile grew on the old Targaryen's face. "Asher is of your concern, not Rickon Stark. The boy's identity remains only known to us. I'm sure that you trust every person in this room."

He trusted Samwell and Aza more than he trusted anyone else. He even found himself heavily trusting Maester Aemon now for keeping this secret and always giving wisdom in efforts to aid him. For once since he returned to Castle Black, he felt his anxiety vanish. "Thank you, Maester."

"I never got the chance to save my own family." Aemon's voice had gone soft, a hint of sadness becoming more and more evident in his features and tone. "I won't let another family die out if I can do anything about it."

He hoped what became of the Targaryens would never become of the Starks, but with the way things are… Jon knew that such bleak thoughts were looking closer to reality. Their father was killed on false crimes, Lady Stark and Robb were betrayed at a wedding, Sansa was missing and deemed a kingslayer, and Arya's whereabouts were unknown. Jon couldn't help but to think the worse since the worse kept happening. There wasn't anything he could do about it either except keep Rickon safe. He wanted keep Brandon safe from the north as well, but he had no idea where north his brother had gone.

"I can't believe he's your little brother," Samwell spoke up, smiling. "You two really don't look alike. Well, me and my little brother don't look much alike either, so it's fair."

"He looks more like his mother," Jon stated, knowing for a fact that most of his siblings had more of the Tully look than the Stark. Arya, however, was the exception as he was. They were the only Stark looking children his father had.

"Now that I'm not in trouble… _again_ ," said Aza as she crossed her arms, "I have duties to attend to." Jon could tell she was annoyed, not liking whatever she had been stuck with. Before he could even ask, she knew what he wanted to say and gave answer. "I'm stuck safeguarding the village women and the whores because Ser Alliser doesn't trust most of the men near them. He thinks it's proper punishment for me mouthin' off and insulting that Slynt man."

Confused, Samwell shook his head. "What? He thinks making you guard a bunch of women is punishment? Anyone would be happy to have that duty! I would gladly take it."

"You can't even guard yourself," Aza replied back, making Samwell grin. Even Sam knew what she said was the truth, a rather sad one at that. "He knows I don't want to do it, that's why he's making me do it. I'd like to see anyone try stopping Satin from flirtin' with them. He claims he isn't but I see them followin' him around and trying to climb in his cell bed." Tightening her jaw, Aza looked away heatedly. "What Thorne really wants me to do is babysit the women and Satin. That sure sounds like punishment to me."

Satin was a pretty man, born and raised in a brothel and was a whore himself in Oldtown. Most of the women refugees were taken with him, quite instantly too, and he had enjoyed every minute of their limitless attention. While he may have flirted, Satin seemed to always have his eyes set on someone else in particular. It always made Jon uncomfortable how he made convenient moments to speak with Aza whenever she was around.

Although Aza was a man in the eyes of the Watch, Satin entertained both men and women before. It made Jon uncomfortable whenever he saw the two of them together. Now they would be in close proximity, safeguarding the women, he realized he hadn't liked it at all. Before Aza made her way to leave, he grabbed her wrist in efforts to keep her for a few minutes.

"What?" Aza questioned as she looked up at him. "Something to tell me?"

Every single thought that came across his mind sounded too infantile to say. She was sure to get angry if he voiced any of them and an argument would ensue. "It slipped my mind," he lied. "I forgot what I going to say."

Skeptical as ever, she squinted her eyes slightly as she studied him for a minute. "Then let go of me then."

As if she was fire itself, he pulled back his hand quickly, almost like she was too hot to touch. It hadn't made her less curious, just intensely more suspicious. "Sorry…" he mumbled, taking some steps away from the door to allow her to fully leave.

Without wasting anymore time, Aza furrowed her brows in thought before opening the door of the rookery and glanced at him briefly before leaving. "What was that?" Samwell asked.

"I forgot what I was going to tell him." The Maester's head was turned in his direction and both his eyebrows raised. He knew that Jon was lying, but he remained quiet. "It's nothing. Just forget about it." Samwell gave a slow nod before tending to the letters that piled on the Maester's desk. "I'll…" he swallowed thickly, "I'll be leaving now." Awkwardly, he slowly made his way to the door and left quietly, wanting to cringe at how stupid he must've looked just then.

In the hallway, Jon watched Rowan round the corner as he sprinted, going somewhere in a hurry. Knitting his brothers together, he wondered what the emergency was until he saw men of the Watch gathering to go to the common hall. "Jon," he turned his head to see Pypar running to meet him, "there's been a meeting. A boy," he panted, "a boy came and said the Wildlings give us a message."

* * *

 **A/N** : I can't believe I split this into two parts, but I had to. I totally forgot about the Mutineers, especially since that's where Jon reunites with Ghost and unknowingly saves Bran, but I surprised you guys, didn't I? The baby wolf lives! And he will get all the attention he rightfully deserved because I also muse over the idea of Rickon growing up to be a aggro!badass with Shaggydog at his side. Unfortunately, D&D didn't think so, but I am not them. c: I still feel wrong for not having Satin on the show, but I guess we can't have two beautiful raven-haired bastards at the Wall. :c

But, wow, I didn't really think of a definite FC for Aza. Now that I really think about it, I kind of see Chrishell Stubbs as Aza. She has the look of the mixed ethnicities of the respective places I'm _hinting_ at. Summer Islanders are usually written to have ebony skin ( except for Greyworm for some reason ), but due to Aza being half Summer Islander, I think Chrishell embodies how I think she would look. c: I say this and then I see someone else and I'm like, "she's the one!" but I'm pretty stuck on Chrishell.

Wow, I tried to reply/answer to as many as a can!

MicroSpider: Thank you and I totally agree! I was debating how to tweak my writing style a bit, and so I tried something new. I didn't like it all that much either, and just went back to what I was comfortable with. I'm glad you like Aza though. Just writing a balanced OC is super hard. Harder than I realized. CC is welcomed, I didn't take it as an insult. Some people, however, tend to flame than they do offer good suggestions and I'm glad you pointed that out to me! Writing should always be a learning experience! No matter what stage you're in.

nerdylittlesecret: I hope you stay in love because these two hooligans will always be hooligans and probably frustrate you in future chapters to come.

nzOptimist: The problem is... if that was a good thing. C; I'm so mean... I want to tell you guys things, but I can't.

kate langdon: BOCB will be in the next chapter when it should've been in this one. I hope you weren't too displeased by that. At least Brandon made an appearance and Rickon and Osha are alive.

katie: I'm glad you liked it! Thank me? Thank you for being an avid reader. I hate to keep you dying, but it'll be here soon.

WhatsGoingOn: Shay Mitchell is beautiful, but she reminds too much of like people of Essos or people of YiTi. She definitely fits their description. She would be amazing as some sort of pirate or princess. Just seeing her in Myrish lace makes me squeal.

Guest: Oooh, I like how you are so close to what I'm planning. Aza has her reasons though for not saying the "L" word yet. Jon, however, doesn't think it's a good time either. I mean with all the chaos, I wouldn't be saying it now.

Minstorai: Thank you, and oh! No I don't, but I did think about joining Wattpad and AO3. Never got around to it though... Really? That is amazing! Thank you. I don't deserve it! But it is true. She is just... attracted to trouble and loves engaging in it. It's hard to think of her every just sitting down and not being apart of something, but I think she's going to get to that point pretty soon! I think Aza sees too much of herself in Ygritte because Ygritte has loyalty to her people and Aza has loyalty to her.s Even though Ygritte is out to kill them, Aza remembers killing people for the sake of her own loyalty and even survival. I couldn't find myself not writing Aza reflecting her own similarities to the Wildlings because too many are there. But yeah, she'll definitely kill Ygritte if she has to and changing her canon death is likely. I'm glad you enjoyed that part because I was stuck on that for a while! I wasn't even sure how I was going to go into that. Aza is a forward person... most of the time. Jon Snow is going to have a problem on his hands.

lilnightmare17: I'm glad you liked it. I tried to remain neutral with Ygritte because I didn't want to feel like I was projecting my own feelings? I mean, I have a love-hate for her myself, and I wanted to write her as best as I could. Woo, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter too!

Ju: Thank you! Writing Jon Snow is really, really more difficult than I imagined! Oh yes, definitely, I wanted Aza's reason to be legit and I gave her major flaws because any girl raised the way she was wouldn't be gentle and obedient. She's a merc, she should have problems with authority/being told what to do.

Ritsikas: Oh my god. I warned you though. Lol. I really laughed at loud at this.

Ivy: Oh yes! Jon Snow is much more awkward in the books than he is in the show, and I tried to combie sexually confident Jon Snow and actual awkward teenage boy Jon Snow. He's only 18 and about to be 19. Ygritte was more experienced, so it was less awkward, but it is definitely going to be awkward with him and Aza. I want to be realistic as I can with how I get to them doing the "do". Aza is 17 and knows a little too much, but she doesn't know enough. So it is definitely going to be... the awk express. That's exactly why I changed my plans with BOCB because this arc is pretty important and there's just a few characters I missed typing.

Volpina: You guys are too smart! I've led some clues throughout how she's going to feel about that. c:

Zoey24: Thank you! I'm so... so stupid because of I thought of onions has layers. It's my fault for thinking of Shrek when I saw layers. That movie has ruined me... forever. LOL! I think he's only stoic and boring at times because he doesn't have many playful people to interact with. Ygritte was one, but he was struggling with loving the enemy and then he gets hardened by all the shit that goes down.


	12. Chapter 11: Before the Dawn Pt2 (M)

**AZA**

It seemed fruitless, but she had done it anyway. Aza rubbed her hands together, trying to create enough friction to warm her freezing hands. When it didn't feel like it was enough, she walked a few paces until she was near a torch. When her hands were carefully hovered over the bright, steady flames, she felt content to feel her stiff fingers lose their tension. Her mind was still half troubled and half put at ease. Rickon had gone to bed, sleeping in his own cell now, and no longer asked over and over if Jon was really going to come back. It had only been a few days, but Rickon's paranoia of losing another member of his now small family had grown when the night fell and the day started. As much as his worries only inflamed her own, she tried to remain strong for him. She told him as much as he needed to hear it that Jon Snow would come back.

The first night felt surreal. She lied awake for some hours, trying to remember how Jon Snow looked before he walked through the tunnel through the Wall. He smiled at her, his eyes saying everything she knew he couldn't say vocally. Aza wished that her duties didn't take so much of her time or else she would've got time to tell him a proper goodbye instead of being forced to see him off. She would've rathered kissed him, held him or tell him how she would wait for him. The idea of that being the last time she could ever see him again had made her gut curdle. She would hate herself for the rest of her life if Jon Snow died out there by the hands of Karl or Rast or any of the other scum and all she could do was look at him before he was gone.

"What was it like?" Samwell decided to speak after such silence felt interminable between them this night as they partnered for Night duty atop of the Wall.

"What was what like, Sam?" Aza looked at him from the corner of her eyes, wanting clarification for what he was asking.

He cleared his throat and clutched his black cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. "The men say you and Osha are… well…" With a nervous grin, he tilted his head to quietly imply what she already understood he meant.

"I'm not fucking Osha, Sam," she put it squarely, rolling her eyes and looking up at the moon above them. It was but a slim crescent, a sliver of glowing white in an inky sky. She found it more amusing than listening to stupid gossip that she and Osha were lovers. At least it kept Jon out of the equation and such a replacement did further strengthen the idea that she was a man. Still, if Osha were to have heard such a thing, she would quickly put an end to it.

"Oh," said Sam, "is it because she has big, hairy feet? I hear lots of Wildling women have them."

With a snort, Aza did her best to stifle a laugh. Who spread such strange rumors? She really wanted to ask where he heard such things from, but knowing Samwell, he'd know too much history behind it. "I've never seen her feet and who would care? She's a woman. She still has a cunt, doesn't she?" Did a man really care if a woman's feet were big or hairy? If he only wants himself pleasured, why should such things be worth thinking about? With the way men looked at Osha and even Gilly, Aza doubted feet were on their minds.

"You just seem…" Like he was afraid to answer, he paused for some time before looking back at her. "You just seem picky is all. N-Not that it's a bad thing or anything, but because you've been with women before… I'm sure you have a certain kind of woman you like to be with." He smiled when he finished speaking, nodding fervently as if he was trying to convince himself that he saved himself well.

Perhaps she was picky. In her eyes, Jon Snow, Satin, Rowan, and Rykker were the only physically attractive men in the Watch. Still, she wouldn't have minded an ugly man if they treated her as Jon Snow did. Sometimes she wished he was ugly. If he was ugly then Val, Ygritte, and the women and whores here wouldn't look at him like they did. Aza would still feel as she does for him and have him all to herself without stupid things like insecurities clouding her feelings a good half of the time. Jon Snow could have a beauty like Val or a fierce girl like Ygritte, but he chose her and that's because he's stupid and likes a girl who would throw her fists at the world for him until they're raw and bleeding. Even if there should be no reason for her to, she would do it for him anyway.

"I think Osha is quite handsome." Pretty doesn't fit Osha, even if she were to bathe more, brushed her hair, and wear dresses, she wouldn't be pretty. She's handsome and has features that are sharp and not soft and round like most men liked. She did not have a single delicate feature about her. She was rough-featured in a pleasant way. "I'm just not interested."

Samwell took her answer with a nod before looking out at the vast, tree-filled North. There wasn't much to see but they were supposed to watch for Jon and the others to return. Just one horn and all of Castle Black would know the mutineers had been justly slaughtered. "I nearly wondered if you fancied men, too." Her eyes sharply looked right and he jumped as if she threw daggers at him. "N-Not that it's a bad thing or I-I'm against it, but…"

"Sam," her voice became stern and she was halfway ready to tell him to shut up. He gulped, loudly, and began to fiddle his thumbs with his head low.

"I didn't mean to you offend you, Aza… I was just, well—"

"Sam!" Aza said his name again, louder this time, and he became quiet. His eyes were unable to find the strength to look back up at her. "I'm not angry, so quit your shaking." Almost immediately, he breathed again and his legs had lost their quivering. "I do fancy men."

His head quickly snapped back up, eyes big as they gazed at her. "Y-You do?"

"Yeah," Aza answered him, "I do." There was no real reason to hide what she was from him. Samwell wouldn't dare tell another soul, even if his life was put at risk. From what she knew, Samwell was coward, yes, but he was a loyal coward. "You have to promise me you won't overreact to what I'm going to say."

His brows furrowed, confusion written on every inch of his face. With some thought, he gave her a stern nod. "I won't."

"You cannot tell another soul about it either. It's a secret that Jon, Rickon, and Osha already know."

The suspense had been set for him. Aza let their gaze meet, the moonlight giving her a clear view of Samwell's eager face. "I'm…" she hesitated, just for a moment, and then sighed. "I'm a girl." There. She said it. It it felt like some weight lifted off her shoulders. For the first time, of her choosing, she let her secret be told to another. It just seemed strange that person of her choosing was Samwell Tarly.

"What?" It didn't seem like her words truly sunk in with him. He was confused, lost even, and squinted his eyes as he looked at her. "You're a what?" Like he was hard of hearing, he took a few steps towards her, looming over her due to his tall height.

She tilted her head back to keep her eyes transfixed on his. If she dared to look away, he would think she was joking. There was no hint of a smile on her lips or a crinkle of her eyes. Aza kept her face as still as stone. "I'm a girl, Samwell. A girl; I have a cunt and teats. I bleed every moon. If a man spills his seed in me, I'd carry his child for nine moons until a babe is born." She may have become much too detailed, but seeing the shock set in and his eyes look as if they would pop out of his head did entertain her. "I'm. A. Girl."

"B-But you can't be!" He shook his head, refusing to believe it. "You're jesting. You're no girl, Aza. A girl can't do the things you do. A girl can't join the Night's Watch." She didn't believe the denial would easily override the surprise. Perhaps it was her own fault for constantly teasing Sam to the point that a straight face could still be taken for her way of play.

"What do you want me to do in order for you to believe me? Want me to show you my teats that I keep bound?" Aza raised her hand to unclasp her cloak, but Sam's large hands grabbed her arms in efforts to stop her. She wasn't really going to unveil her breasts to him. All she would do was show the white cloth that covered them in order for him to believe her.

"I-I believe you! I do!" Most men wouldn't have stopped her, and she halfway wondered why Tarly became so honorable the moment. This was a virgin boy who never seen a girl's breasts before. Shouldn't he have been eager at the thought of merely seeing hers? It didn't bother her, she was grateful, and she had no idea how she could ever explain to Jon why she showed Samwell her bound breasts. She didn't think he'd be too fond of the idea, especially since he didn't even see them first.

Aza saw sweat build up on Samwell's brow, which seemed strange due to how cold it was. How could he work himself up to the point of perspiration? "You're really…" he gulped. "A girl…"

"I suppose you know better now than to think girls can't fight like boys can. _You_ can't even fight, but you can't believe a girl can?" Abashed, he lowered his head as he removed his hands from her arms and took comfortable steps back. "I've been hiding being a girl for several years now. I didn't just lie to the Watch, but to many."

Samwell stood, silent as the night, and she watched him from the corner of her eyes. It looked as if he was trying to figure out how it was possible or possibly the many times it should've been obvious to him that she was in fact a girl. Whatever was going on Samwell's head, Aza couldn't begin to figure it out. "How long did Jon know?" He finally asked.

"The Wildlings knew right away." Her mind took her back to Tormund and Mance's outing her right in front of Jon. "They knew and revealed it to him without me having much of a say-so."

Both his brows hitched at that. "He must've been angry."

"He was," Aza replied, crossing her arms as she looked down to see any sign of a torch that the others would use to light their path. She didn't very much like remembering the winter storm his eyes could create in his fury. "He didn't speak to me for a few days." Now that she thought about it, would Sam share the same anger as he did. "Are you angry with me?"

His round eyes blinked twice before he smiled some, shaking his head. "I'm not angry, I'm just… shocked. How could I have been around a girl for this long and never know it? It even makes me feel ashamed that a girl is a better sword than me. My father would just love that." The last bit was said sarcastically, but she knew much about the tumultuous relationship between Randall Tarly and his son.

"I just hope it won't change things between us." She prayed it won't. She prayed Samwell wouldn't be too focused on her being a girl now. He was still noble in that aspect, wanting to protect girls because he thought them even weaker than him and he's bloody weak. "I'm still the same Aza you met. How you see me now shouldn't change to how you've always treated me."

"I know…" It was hard to take his words as truth. She could only judge from the days to come if Samwell would remember that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. "It makes sense why Jon looks as you the way he does now." Her gaze softened, her head shyly lowering.

"Quiet." Too embarrassed to keep the conversation about Jon and herself in front of Sam, she looked back out into the wildness of the true North. "One horn for rangers returning," she said to remind herself.

"Two for Wildlings," Sam continued it, "and three…" The both of them glanced at one another, their eyes already saying the answer they didn't want to speak.

 **JON**

He was home again. Castle Black felt more like a home to him than Winterfell ever did, sometimes. He felt like he belonged here and he had people waiting for him to come back. Just the thought of seeing Aza and Rickon, waiting for him in the courtyard erased all he endured at Craster's Keep. The wound to his pride still flared as much as the physical ones whenever he kept picturing how Karl nearly slain him. If it weren't for Craster's daughter-wife, Jon just might very well be dead. There was some truth to what Karl had said to him during their fight. Maybe the old way of keeping honor while in a battle would kill him someday. If he had lost his honor then, he would've killed Karl without hesitating of upholding a fair fight.

The courtyard was filled with men and among the many faces, he did not see Aza. His smile had faltered some, only regrowing when he saw Rickon and Olly. Just seeing Olly there had reminded him of what it would've been like if Bran was in Castle Black. His two brothers, standing there waiting for him, until he remembered that Bran could no longer walk and was somewhere North. How far could a cripple boy and giant go? Did he get enough rest? He seemed to have known better than to go anywhere near Craster's Keep.

"Lord Snow." Thorne's voice alone had made his mouth bend down to a frown. He didn't even want to turn to look at him, but he done his duty and upheld the respect he was supposed to show. As his eyes looked up at the acting Commander, the man was silent for a little while before turning his head to look at Ghost. "This is no place for wild beasts. Lock him away or I'll let Hobb throw him in tonight's stew."

It shouldn't have bothered him, Thorne's lack of approval despite what he had accomplished and the threat. It should've phased right through him, but it didn't. Jon's irritation was worn on his face and with one final look, he walked away, knowing that Ghost would have to stay in the stables. He couldn't roam freely as he once did as Mormont had allowed him. Thorne would choose any and every excuse in efforts to find fault in him.

"Come on, Ghost." And his wolf companion obeyed, following him, knowing very well where had to take him. He did have to wonder how Ghost would feel being reunited with Shaggydog again. Before he barely entered the stables, Rickon was already at his heel, throwing himself high enough to hug him by the waist.

"You really came back," Rickon sounded like he was on the verge of crying and Jon didn't blame him. His little brother's fear of losing people who left him was made obvious during the angry outburst when Jon had packed his things the night before. Despite the promises of how it wouldn't take long before he returned, Rickon didn't believe him. Robb promised to come back and so did the boy's mother, but both of them died and Winterfell was taken. Jon only felt guilt for having to leave Rickon, even if for a short time, but it seemed to have worked out just fine with Rickon face beaming despite his teary eyes.

"I promised I would." Rickon had let him go, rubbing his eyes that were still welled up. "How have you been while I was gone?"

"Rowan kept up bow training with me and Sam helps me with my reading and studies." Jon smiled at how easily Rickon seemed happy recalling such events. It was good to know Rickon was starting to trust others, and he was trusting good people, too. "Then, Hobb let me try his new soup and it was really, really good! Aza was angry though because I got the first taste!" Jon chuckled, tousling his brother's hair. "Aza promised me you would come back and told me stories to help me sleep. She was good to me."

Just hearing that had lifted Jon's dampened spirits. His eyes watched Rickon look over at Ghost, who he quickly ran to and wrapped his lanky arms around. The white wolf didn't mind his nuzzling and kept trying to angle his head upward in effort to lick the boy's face. "Could you do me a favor and put Ghost in the stables? I'm sure him and Shaggy will be happy to see one another again."

His little brother nodded, smiling as he looked up at him. "I should bring Olly over, I'm sure he'd like to meet Ghost. Shaggy already likes him."

"As long as you get back to your chores," Jon told him sternly only to be given a frown. Rickon never had chores in Winterfell since he was the noble son of a high lord. The transition must've been weird for him, if not strenuous. Rickon may not like it now or ever, but he would understand and enjoy the results of hardwork. It all builds character and it would all be useful to him, especially if he grew strong enough to reclaim Winterfell one day.

Samwell had walked over, his smile looking more nervous than it's usually friendly form. "Thorne says we are all to meet in the common hall. I'm sure he wants to learn of what happened in Craster's Keep. I should be there for Gilly, she'll…she'll want to know what happened to her family." Jon nodded silently, standing upright as he led the way with Samwell trying to keep up with his strides. "Oh, and I know the secret," he whispered or tried to due to the space between them.

Jon stopped walking, wondering what secret Sam could've known. His head slowly turned to his best friend, who was grinning from ear to ear. "Aza told me a night ago. I would've never thought he be really a…" Mindful of where they were, he tilted his round head with his brows hitched." _You know_."

"He told you?" Jon wasn't upset that she told Sam, not in the slightest. Jon trusted Samwell with his life and he knew that he would never tell such a secret under any circumstance. After keeping her secret under wraps for all these years, he had to wonder why she thought it best to tell Sam after all this time? In some ways, he was jealous that Sam got the luxury of being told while he had to find out from the likes of Tormund and Mance Rayder.

"He did," Sam insisted, leaving no room for doubt in Jon's mind. "If you're wondering if he'll be in the meeting, Jaremy has sent for him to come." Samwell had other questions in mind but due to where they were needed, he didn't bother to ask them yet. There was just too much to do and focus on that infantile curiosities had to be put to rest for a time.

From the courtyard to the common hall was all but a quick stroll and it had been worthwhile as he saw Aza accompanied by Satin and Rowan at either sides. She was so short between them, somehow managing to keep enough space so she wasn't squashed in the middle. The expression on her face was serious, but her eyes were frantically searching around and he hoped it was to find him. When her brown eyes quit their flickering and finally rested on his own, his eyes soaked in the way her jaw curved to venture a smile.

"That's enough of that," Sam whispered, on the verge of snickering, "or someone will see." He's right, such an exchange will heighten rumors that were probably newly spoken. Jon pulled his eyes away from her first, walking in the common hall with his mind being forced to be set on repeating the events and other grim news. Everyone began to sit at the benches, Sam, Pypar, Grenn, and Edd all at his table while Aza was made to sit on the opposite table of him. All he had to do was look over his shoulder and look at her, but he had to remember he was being thoroughly watched now.

When the sworn brothers took the high table and all conversation seemed to have died, Thorne spoke first. "Lord Snow," he called him by that name Jon loathed. Jon fixed any sort of defiance on his face and climbed out of his seat to stand. "Tell us all that happened."

There wasn't much to tell other than Mormont's body was as good as rotten. It had been completely unrecognizable and thrown out to the woods because the mutineers hadn't liked the smell of him. It was if they completely forgotten that Mormont could've rose again as an Wight because they were too busy enjoying this freedom they knew wouldn't last. He even informed them of how Craster's daughter-wives had left on their own once the mutineers were finished. Not one of them wanted to come back to the Wall after how they suffered. He recounted the men they had lost during the attack and how every mutineer was killed. Lastly, he told them how they burnt the whole Keep to the ground.

But the most important news of all were of the Wildlings that are steadily marching close. "Mance's army was closing in on Craster's Keep when we left. We saw their campfires from Osric's Hill. They'll reach the Wall before the next full moon." His words unsettled his black brothers, he could see the way their faces bared their distress and how their bodies tensed as they mumbled to each other.

"I'm surprised you didn't ride over and say hello," Slynt commented and a few snickers erupted at his snide remark. Jon knew better than to give him a reaction, he wouldn't give the man any sort of satisfaction. "The King-Beyond-the-Wall is your old friend, isn't he?"

Ignoring him, Jon looked back at Thorne. "We need to prepare."

"We've been preparing." Alliser didn't seem to take his words too well. In fact, Jon could see the acting Commander felt insulted as if he believed Jon insinuated that they have been lollygagging while he was away. All Jon was stating that everything must be ready before it was too late.

"We should seal the tunnel," Jon suggested. "Plug it with rocks and ice. Flood it and let it freeze."

Ser Jaremy rose a curious brow, speaking before Thorne had the chance to. "Are you considering barring our only way of ever ranging north, Jon Snow?"

The eyes of the First Ranger had made Jon unsettled, just for a while. He held a great respect for Jaremy Rykker and he didn't want to see it diminished, but if the Night's Watch were to survive than this is the lengths they would have to take. "Yes."

"Coward!" someone shouted, unrest growing.

"You would cut off our legs, pluck out our eyes, leave us cowering behind the Wall hoping for the storm to pass?" Thorne questioned him, his ire all in his voice and in his eyes. Jon felt the heatwave of what felt like all hundred eyes on him and yet he stood tall and he did not want to recede on his plans. Jon Snow wasn't about to take back his suggestion, not now or ever.

"We can't defend the gate against 100,000 men," Grenn spoke up, having seen Mance Rayder's fires himself. The way the smoke gathered so largely in the night air as they looked on from Osric's Hill had gave him full clarity that Jon did not lie about the many men the King-Beyond-the-Wall had.

Stubborn as he always was, Thorne did not see their reasoning. No, Jon quickly thought, Thorne could see it, he just simply didn't wish to acknowledge it. "This castle has stood for thousands of years. The Night's Watch has defended her for thousands of years. And in all those centuries, we have never sealed the tunnel."

"Have you seen a giant, Ser Alliser?" Jon questioned. "I have."

"The bars on those gates are four inches thick. Cold-rolled steel." The acting Commander reminded him of what he already knew.

"And they won't stop them," he insisted, knowing that Mag and Wun Wun would tear apart the gates without issue.

"Remind me which order you belong to, Lord Snow." Jon's jaw had dared to tighten, but he thought better of himself.

"The stewards," Jon answered, honestly and without hesitance.

"Are the stewards responsible for maintaining the tunnel?" questioned Thorne, undermining him as he always enjoyed to do.

"No."

"Who would that be?"

"The builders."

"Ah, the builders." Thorne turned his head to his right to look down at his sworn brother. "First Builder Yarwyck, Lord Snow here recommends sealing the tunnel, leaving us unable to carry out our duties as sworn brothers of the Night's Watch. Do you agree with him?"

Othell Yarwyck had never been close to Jon. They never had any reason to speak save for the time Othell was there to tell him he completed his vows. What other reasons would Jon need to interact with the First Builder? He couldn't guess where Othell's side would be, but Jon suspected it would not be with him. He hardly felt any of the sworn brothers would be on his side now. "No," Yarwyck answered after letting the awkward, tension filled silence finally come to pass.

"Yearling," Thorne called her by a name Jon nearly forgotten and slowly slid his eyes right to look at her as she raised her head, "stand." Alliser ordered and she quietly obeyed. Aza climbed off the bench and stood on the hard floor, her expression rather calm than annoyed as Jon thought it would be. "How is it that you feel about all of this? You were with the Wildlings, your knowledge should be just as deep as Lord Snow's. What do you make of his plans?"

Everyone within the common hall was looking at her. Since she hated when people stared at her, Jon could see her discomfort in the way she stood alone. She shifted all her weight to her left foot, clenching and un-clenching her fists in slow, rhythmic movements. Her jaw tightened and then loosened as her eyes remained stuck on the acting Commander. "I really don't have much to say," she stated honestly, and someone dared to gasp, making a few of the men laugh.

"Surprising," scoffed Thorne, just as shocked and amused at the others. "Since when have you learned to be so quiet? You're an opinionated one, Yearling. Why the sudden lack of one?"

He was pushing her as he always liked to do. Thorne could easily get a retort or any sort of reaction out of Aza with just a single word. Aza, however, remained nonplussed. For the first time ever, Jon was seeing the girl so stuck on self-restraint. As proud as he was about to feel, the gleam in her eyes appeared and he wanted to sigh. All self-restraint had withered away. "Alright," she said and the corner of her mouth lifted in a slight smirk, "I do just have one thing to say."

Her eyes scanned across the room, looking at every pair of eyes that were gazing upon her. "I want everyone in this room to look to their left and then to their right." Confused, Jon furrowed his brows as everyone began to whisper, but doing as she had suggested. "Most of you are sitting with your friends, yeah? Well, I suggest you tell them goodbye and spend as much time with them as you can." Then silence fell, harshly so, and Thorne's smirk had fell completely. "And if you survive after our fight with the Wildlings, I want you to remember that it was Jon Snow that gave wisdom to keep them alive and it was our temporary Lord Commander that let them die by the hands of Wildlings. Some of you won't have a grudge to bear because you'll be dead, but I hope your ghost won't come back to haunt us."

"Traditions do last, I agree with that, but do you know what sometimes happen? People die trying to uphold those traditions they think will age with each coming year, but what do I know? I merely rested my head with the Wildlings and watched them for myself. It just seems wiser to listen to a man who didn't live with them and hasn't seen a giant before, isn't it? Our lives are in his hands, and I hope all of you are content with that. Either way, the Wildlings are coming and whether we live or die is determined by how we handle them. I pray that we handle them well."

Sweeping back her fringe away from her forehead, Aza turned around to leave. Just like that, she had not waited to be dismissed and declared herself wanting nothing more of this meeting. His feet itched to follow her, but he knew she didn't wish him to. All he could do was stay in the spot he stood in and turned his head to look back up at Alliser Thorne. The expression he wore could make one's bones freeze because he was that intensely infuriated by her speech. Ser Jaremy, however, eyes remained glued to the door that Aza walked out of and for a moment, Jon thought he caught a hint of smile. Hardly did the First Ranger ever approve of what she had done, but he had approved of that.

"This meeting is over." Thorne harshly pushed his chair back as he stood, making the wood screech across the high platform. Before leaving, he ordered Yarwyck to bring a hundred barrels of pitch atop the Wall. Jon never seen Thorne so angry that he couldn't speak a retort and that's when he knew that Aza had sunk herself deeper into a pit of trouble. Still, he couldn't help but to feel so proud of her approach. If those that lived after their fight remembered how he tried to save them then maybe the direction of the Night's Watch would steer away from traditions that could hinder them and into a brighter future ahead.

Jon quickly left the common hall, hoping to find Aza despite not knowing where she could have gone. After her speech of practically exposing Alliser's lack of understanding of the Wildlings, he knew she probably wanted some space. She probably wanted it and yet he wanted to see her anyway. The most reasonable place would be her cell. So his feet lead them there, going towards the tower she rested in, but she wasn't there when he pushed opened the door. His eyes scanned over to see her well-made cot and her things neatly put away. He closed the door and went down the tower's stairs and went to the vaults, wondering if she was waiting for him in the library.

If he ran any faster, he was bound to be out of breath and as soon as he opened the door, he saw her sitting at a desk with the side of her head laying against its flat surface. Jon smiled at the sight of her before closing the door behind him, only loud enough to alert her that she wasn't alone. "How much you want to wager that Thorne wants me flogged to death?"

He stood in front of the table, crossing his arms. "A thousand gold dragons."

"A thousand?" Aza lifted her head from off the table, tilting it back to look up at him as she repeated his words incredulously. "You're aiming too low, Jon Snow."

Jon chuckled as he heard the chair slide across the floor and she was standing right in front of him. Her playful smile turned into a warm one and her eyes are saying words he wants to voice. "I missed you," he admitted quietly. "I missed _you_ , Aza."

Her head lowered shyly, and she ruffled her hair as if she could hide her face with it. It's still too short and nicely trimmed instead of choppy now that someone could properly cut it. Her hair is completely back to the way it was before she had let it grow out by mistake. "I might've missed you," she teased him, raising her hand and giving little space between her thumb and pointer finger to convey how 'much' she missed him. "Just a lil' bit."

It wasn't what she said that made him want to laugh, but how she pushed herself to the tip of her toes all so she can give him a tender brush of her lips. Aza doesn't speak her deeper affection, she shows it, and she had done so by fastening their lips together, lightly and not ardently as like the times he had kissed her. Jon smiled into the kiss before angling his jaw, kissing her back with a tenderness to match her own.

 **AZA**

It always annoyed her when Jon tugged his mouth off hers and she's forced to open her eyes. She's forced to look at him and be reminded where she is and how her life might just very much end in a matter of a month. Wildlings would be here by the next full moon and they still weren't ready. No matter how many times Thorne believed they were, Aza knew better than to believe it. "Our days are numbered, aren't they?" she asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it again so it stays in her mind and optimism doesn't try to bloom.

"They are." Jon's smile is sad as he answers her, his hands now cupping her face and his eyes steadily gazing into her own. "A 100,000 Wildlings will be here at our front and back gates."

Before people died, they had wishes to fulfill and all of hers had changed since she was forced to Castle Black. If she were to die so soon, there was at least one thing she wanted to do. "Don't laugh at what I'm about to say…" she warned him. His nod was slow, showing his confusion, but he quietly promised her anyway. "I want…" Aza began to say, the words ready to turn to ashes in her mouth due to how embarrassing it is to say it. "I want to have sex."

It felt as if Jon Snow froze into a very block of ice in front of her. He didn't speak, he didn't move… He was entirely still. His face, however, began to gradually turn several shades of red. She was beginning to wonder how red could he possibly get. People pale as he was tended to turn pink and red very quickly.

"W-What?" One of his hands slowly moved to his mouth, and he began coughing into it. Everything has gone completely awkward and he has to swallow another cough just to clear his throat. "You want to _what_?"

Is he hard of hearing or are her words too forward? She's always been honest, at least about things that most highborn girls are too shy to speak about. It's just a physical thing that tips over into an emotional one. All she simply thinks that if she were to die, she wanted to lose her maidenhead. If there was anyone she trusted and wanted to lose it to, it was to Jon Snow. "You didn't hear what I said or are you just pretending to be hard of hearing?" Now her nerves are jittering, right in the very deep parts of her stomach. "I want to have sex," she repeated herself firmly, sticking to what she said and deciding to still not be so vague and modest.

Even with her courage, however, she felt her cheeks flush. "W-With… me?" Jon Snow is stammering and being stupid, she's beginning to think so.

Her eyes lowered dangerously halfway, revealing a sharp glower. "Why would I bother telling you if I wanted to fuck someone else?" Her voice cracked, the sudden weight of her words coming down on her. It was embarrassing now that she realizing she's propositioning him, at least that's what it suddenly felt like. "I want to have s-sex." It's all his fault that her resolve is wavering and her tongue is beginning to stumble over such a word that seems so taboo in noble households in Westeros. Clearing her throat, she drew up her shoulders in effort to create some air of confidence that she normally projected. "With you, Jon Snow. Sometime soon, hopefully before we possibly die, that is."

She had no idea what it is that he's thinking and his face emanated heat as if he were a flame himself. His dark eyes are just staring at her as if she was speaking a foreign tongue. What if that isn't what he wanted? Men always wanted sex, didn't they? All the men she knew spoke of it as if it was second nature to them, but Jon wasn't like them. He was a maid. He had not been with another woman like the men she's thinking of in comparison. After all, who thinks of a thing like sex in a underground, dusty library? There's no bed for them to lie on, just desks and a floor is all they have if they needed a flat surface. It's not the exact place she has ever imagined losing her maidenhead in, but she didn't very much care about romantic things like scenery or ambiance at this very moment.

The silence is starting to get to her and she wanted to scream. It's embarrassing because it nearly feels like he's rejecting her. "Well?" Aza persisted, wondering if she should just run away, but she feels too glued to where she's standing. "D-Do you want to or not?" She's beginning to feel warm, uncomfortably so, and her chest is heaving. It is starting to feel impossible to even breathe. "I thought you wanted to… You know, when we were here before… when you laid me on the desk and—"

"I did," Jon finally spoke, clearing his throat for a second time. "I do."

Now she feels shy, stupidly so. "R-Really? Well…" A nervous laugh left her mouth, and she's looking away because looking at him made her skin feel like it is on fire.

"I still want to with you." Nothing about this is comfortable or seductive. Nothing about this reminds her of how people speak of sex. Nothing about this felt intimate. It felt very real, and very odd. " _Badly,_ " he whispered and her eyes looked up at him like he's the one speaking a foreign language now. His voice sounds deeper and strange. Not strange in a bad way, but in a way that makes her stomach coil into tight, sweet knots of erratic anticipation.

Jon had begun to unfasten her cloak off her shoulders, reminding her that this was really happening because she really did ask for this. Their clothing had a lot of buttons and fastenings, so she saw the sense of why he wanted them out of the way. The thought, however, of being naked before him had made her heart feel as if it was about to suddenly stop. She had never been so bare in front of a man before. Her body was always manipulated to be viewed as a man's but now in every essence that made her a woman to the world was going to be revealed to him. He stripped her off the boiled leather and chainmail, and even the loose fitted tunic underneath it all. All that was before them were her breeches and bindings since she discarded her boots in the middle of him undressing her.

He eyed her for a moment as if he was making sure that this is what she really wanted. Her nod was weak although she's sure. He tore the bindings on one side and they land atop of her clothes. Aza chewed the inside of her cheek raw, eyes stuck on how he was taking in all of her naked upper body. "D-Don't just stand there and stare at me," she nearly shrilled and his lips twitch, halfway ready to part so he can laugh. "It's just teats." Despite how shy she felt, Aza would rather pretend as if there's nothing for him to marvel at. He's just gawking for no reason.

Her hands shakily began to undo his cloak, his leather, and removed his tunic because Aza can't bear to be half-naked while he isn't. Amused by her need to rush this, he stood there and let her, eyes soaking in every time she bit her lip or when she was nearly ready to rip his leather when the buttons wouldn't undo as quickly as she wanted them to. Now it was her turn to feast on his naked upper-half and she felt entirely flustered.

There had never been a reason for Jon to ever be shirtless. In the South, it always gets so unbearably hot and so the men would train without their doublets, tunics, and whatever they wore on the top half of their bodies. Some men were sculpted as if they had been perfectly carved by the Gods and others had scars upon scars to show their valor and luck. Jon Snow had a body that reminded her of them, except paler and bearing less scars. His skin was so pale that it was almost like he was blending in with a pile of snow with pinkish undertones.

She nearly wanted to flinch as he moved, he lifted her as he did once before, placing her on the desk and stumbled forward until they're half-splayed on its surface. By instinct, Aza decided to wind one leg around his waist because it felt natural the way. It brings him as close as he can be at the time, and she could feel herself twisting against his erection that has long since wanted to be noticed.

His mouth landed on hers with a fierceness and she found struggle to keep her lips firmly planted on his as she twisted and turned her spine to keep them properly angled. As if Jon could sense her difficulty, he burrowed his face in her neck, teeth edging the skin of her throat before remedying each bite mark with a kiss. She's all too focused on how taken she is with being bitten by him that she hadn't felt him peeling off her breeches. It took her by surprise when she felt his hand dive between the hot crevice between her legs, prying her apart with his fingers while his thumb pressed that sensitive bud of nerves as it once did before.

All Jon did was tease her because his hand retreated from between her legs to untie his breeches, shoving them in little jerks off his legs. She watched as he kicked his pants and boots off, leaving her to see that there was nothing between them anymore. It has become suddenly very real to her that she was truly going to lose her maidenhead to him. That the words lovers would be cemented by this act instead of two teenagers who explored so physically little of each other and kissed when nobody could see them. Nothing about this was innocent anymore and it felt like the last shred of their adolescence was about to be taken by one another. It was so rare that Aza felt like her age and she truly felt it now with her mind hazy with lust and fearful of death.

Swallowing the lump that formed in the middle of her throat, her eyes slowly looked down at that space between his legs and she felt herself pulse and drench once more at the sight of him. It's just a cock, one that many men had (and she has touched this one before under a blanket of stars). The only difference of it all was that she made it look like that; all strained and pulsing with need and that made her tremble and spread her legs wider for him. Her, just Aza, had made him hard and desperate for her, and he's going to push all of that want into her.

It seemed crazy, now that she thought deeply about it. She shouldn't be here. In this dusty library in Castle Black, sprawled out and open for the bastard son of the Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, now deceased Warden of the North. Everything about this spelled forbidden despite how he became her equal once he took the black. Knowing all of this, however, just made her long for him more somehow. He was supposed to be someone she could never have and yet she was going to have him in a way no woman ever had him before.

His palms pressed into her thighs, arousing her and heightening impatience that is mixed with anxiety. Aza hadn't realized she voiced her annoyance through a low sound she had done in her throat because Jon was looking at her quite mischievously. Vexed that he was finding fun with this, she pulled him forward with the leg she kept coiled around him, and the head of him grazed her slick heat. His hips yanked away and she's left frustrated again because the sparks that she felt in her lower stomach from the intimate contact quickly disappeared. She craved more of it.

"Just give me a moment." A moment? _A moment._ He's asking for a moment. Time is not necessarily on their side, and she was sure people will start to question where they are very soon. His brows furrowed as he was trying to concentrate on something she couldn't really understand. "Aza, please," he practically begged when she jolted her hips, once again grazing him against the wet folds between her legs.

She's half tempted to move again, defiantly so, because she liked the way he pleaded. Better judgement told her to be patient and so she stayed as still as she could manage herself to be. "This isn't right," he suddenly said and she felt as if she's going to panic. Aza yelped as he lifted her up again and laid her below, using his cloak to keep her from touching the dirty floor of the library. He knelt between her legs, shifting around until his weight pressed down on her. His chest was crushed against her own, and this Northern boy felt like the sun beaming down at her through touch alone.

His stiffness lied directly between her thighs while he held himself up on his hands, angling his hips until he's positioned in the spot that he needs to be. He doesn't spread her open on the first try, but he managed to on the second after he glared at her when she giggled when he missed.

 _It stings._

Most girls said it feels like a man is ripping you open, but it doesn't feel the way to Aza. It feels like a stretching sort of pain, like discomfort, and her inner muscles were trying to clamp down on the invasive length of heat he's pushing into her. He grunted, loudly, and paused so that his entire body is shuddering while pressed against her.

"Tight," Jon mumbled, resting his face in the crook of her neck. "Too tight."

"Keep going," Aza encouraged him, wanting the process of the discomfort over and done with. He nodded, weakly, and continued to push and pry into her in only tiny increments. When he's half-sunken into her, he paused for an abnormally extended period of time, arms trembling where they're braced on either side of her, hips twitching but not really moving.

His lips pressed a hot kiss to the pulse under her jaw while he shifted around so that he's on his knees again. He decided to hold her by the undersides of her thighs, still half submerged in her. Jon dragged himself back until the only the tip of him remained inside then pushed, hard, jamming himself into her with a rather violent thrust. He pushed, keeps pushing, prying her open and tunneling forward until there's no space left. Until he fills her right up to the mouth of her womb.

It feels uncomfortable and yet she keened as her body was undulated by the powerful movement. Her thighs stung with tension, and it feels as if her body was resisting him when she really wanted more. He rocked his hips in a firm, exploratory movement, and watched her, holding her gaze to see if the pain tipped over to pleasure yet.

Aza studied his eyes, seeing them darker than they truly were, face strained with the kindness to hold back. "Move," she practically ordered.

"Are you sure?" He was biting his tongue, knowing very well he wanted to move, but he cares about her too much to not cease her temporary suffering. Jon is considerate like that, and she loves and hates him for it.

"Aye, I'm sure." She lost the edge in her voice to sound more assuring and the sudden jab makes her toes curl and her mouth hang open wide. He says nothing else, at least not words exactly as he rocks into her on short, frantic, bursts of movement, over and over until that last vestige of her pain tumbled over into the stream of pleasure.

His sweat was pouring onto her, dripping down her torso to pool on her stomach, mingling with hers until a scent all their own permeated the stuffy and dusty library. She blinked the sweat out of her eyes, thrashed her hips to coerce him to go faster, to tunnel into her; and for all the discomfort, she doesn't want it to end.

But it does because all good things come to an end sooner or later. Just a bit sooner than she thought because, well, she's heard how virgin men don't usually last very long during the first coupling. Aza won't fault him for it, _this time,_ as she gets to capture the face he makes; all scrunched up in pleasure with his pores flushed and long lashes shuddering.

She finds it all very much worth it.

* * *

Night had fallen much too fast for her liking. Usually, she hoped to see a blanket of stars so she could admire them, but it was no more than an hour ago when the sky was painted with hues of red, orange, and pink. The colors have faded, leaving only inky black of night and there were no stars to be looked upon. The darkness was just thick and the torches all around Castle Black hardly lit her path as she made her way to the stables in order to find Rickon.

The chilly wind had a harsh bite to it, so much so that she could feel it through her cloak. All the hair on the back of her neck has risen and the biting wind left marks in the form of goosepimples tingling on her arms. There was just something about this cold that seemed worse than she ever before though. It went flesh deep, making her blood run cold through her veins and chilling her bones. The night was darker and colder than she had ever seen up North and it made her ache with worry.

When she found the boy of seven, sitting on the ground with his hands petting on the direwolf that had been let out, she froze. Aza didn't want to go anywhere near that beast. Rickon stopped his petting, hand hovering over the black fur of Shaggydog from having caught sight of her once he raised his head. "Aza!" he shouted her name excitedly. "Come over! Come, he won't hurt you, really! He won't."

A string of curses were said under her breath as she practically dragged her feet over. Her eyes was screaming that he was a liar, but her lips smiled without too much of a noticeable twitch. Rickon was truly bent on her forming a relationship with Shaggydog while she would rather run the other way or at least beg for mercy whenever the direwolf so much as looked at her. At least Ghost wasn't so intimidating despite his eyes reminding her a shade of blood.

Her reunion with Ghost never happened. He was made to stay in the stables upon Alliser's orders and now that she was here, she couldn't very much seem him since he was locked away. Before she knew of Alliser's orders, Aza felt slightly offended that the white wolf did not come to see her. He was the friendlier wolf while Shaggydog was virulent and mistrustful. He only showed kindness to Rickon and sometimes Osha, but even the Wildling had her reservations about him as well. His kindness was leveled by Rickon's emotions of the person in question and if the boy got angry with you then so did Shaggydog. That was the only reason why she was trying and she was sure she stunk with fear.

Aza's knees buckled as she lowered herself to the ground beside Rickon, his big eyes looking at her so innocently. He was urging her to pet him with a motion of his head. Her hand was trembling as she hovered between the animal's ears. Rickon looked at her, encouragingly, nodding his head fervently for her to continue. "Do I really need to, Asher?" Even her voice sounded like it was going to give out just as her heart wanted to desperately do.

"He needs to know you," The boy insisted, not taking her doubts or subliminal pleas as an answer. "If you were to get lost or hurt, how will he find you? He can't help you if you won't let him." While his reasons were sweet, she couldn't find herself feeling better about the situation she was in.

The direwolf sniffed away at her hand, even took a taste of it with a brush of his tongue. Aza cringed at the sudden wetness and she halfway expected him to open his mouth, revealing his canines in order to chomp down at it. The worst didn't happen, however. Shaggydog got a taste and her scent without so much of a fuss. He even got an eyeful of her. What more could she possibly do to have the wolf fully know her by now? "Why did you name him Shaggydog?" She found herself asking, wiping her wet hand against her black breeches.

"His fur is shaggy," Rickon tried to explain, putting much thought to his words as he spoke them. "And I didn't really understand what a wolf was. I thought wolves and dogs were the same. He looked like a dog to me, so I called him Shaggydog."

He was still just a little boy, so the name suited the wolf due to the age of his master. Aza chuckled, thinking his reasons were both childish and cute. "Is it a bad name? I heard some of the Night's Watchmen laughing when I say his name."

"I think it's a good name, Asher." Rickon lifted his gaze to look up at her as she placed her non-wet hand on his head, tousling his wild, curly hair. "Shaggydog is yours and you could've name him Shaggycat or anything else because he's yours. I think he rather likes the name. He listens when you call him, does he not?"

"He does." And that was all it took to cheer him up about that matter. She felt relieved that Rickon was still so soft at heart that he could believe her still. Most children became hardened by tragedies, and Rickon was only halfway there. She could save him, she thought. She could save him from becoming the person she had became as a child. "The Wildlings are coming." His voice was low, laced with fear. "I want to help, but there's nothing I can do." His small shoulders drooped down, his lips bending down into a frown. Rickon seemed genuinely hurt as he openly acknowledged his lack of strength. He was just so small and untrained, what could he possibly do?

Clearing her throat, Aza tried to think of something to lift his spirits. "That isn't true," she said, her lips curving upwards in a smile. "You need to protect Gilly and the other women. We're going to send them to the Vaults because they can't very much fight. I'm going to allow a sword in your hands and have you watch over them with Shaggydog."

His eyes went wide, head snapping up to look at her in his shock. "Osha can do that. Osha is the one that can fight."

"I've seen how far you've come, Asher." Placing her hand on his shoulder, she gave it a tender squeeze. "You and Osha will make a good team protecting them. The women will feel safe knowing you're there."

Most Westerosi had let their children be weak and docile, especially their noble children. They were always too afraid to put a sword in their hands half the time when the age was good and ripe. Sometimes they waited just too late, but Rickon was only six when his world went left. Six was young to Westeros but six was old enough in most parts of the world. He was behind compared to his Wildlings opponents, who had children that could fire three arrows consecutively at the age of five. He had no business fighting Wildlings, but who is to say they won't try to find them in the Vaults?

It caught her by surprise when the horns were blown and her heart raced triple time due to it being two of them. She knew it had to be the Wildlings because any of the men that were in Mole's Town when it was raided were most likely butchered and possibly digestive bits in the stomach of the Thenns. She had no time to be afraid, Rickon was looking to her for strength and she had to supply him with it. "Listen to me," Aza said as she grabbed him by the shoulders, "you and Shaggydog must round the women, grab a sword, and go straight to the Vaults, you hear me? All of you must stay inside the storage, you only kill any strange man that comes on in that isn't one of us."

He quickly nodded, eyes welling up with tears. He was frightened and he had every reason to be, but the reason for his fears surprised her. He wasn't worried about just his life. "You're going to stay here and fight them?" Aza sat there, stunned by how he wasn't afraid for himself but for her. "You promise not to die, right? You won't let any of them kill you. You have to promise me that you'll stay alive." What was it with boys of Stark blood being so concerned about her safety? Aza's lips couldn't help but curve upwards as Rickon leaped forward, his arms around her neck and his head buried against the side of her head.

Her arms hovered over him, still very much shocked by his embrace. Her heart shouldn't let him in, though it did. She held the boy close and tight, remembering this was how she held her mother before she boarded the slaveship. The only difference was that she had every intention of coming back to Rickon. She would not leave him nor Jon Snow if she had a choice, even if she were to lose a limb or two.

"I promise." It came out a whisper since her voice grew hoarse and her eyes were hot with unshed tears. It felt good to be wanted like this. It felt good to have her life mean something to someone. Someone other than Jon Snow. "I promise I'll stay alive and when the fighting is done, you and I will put some horse dung in Ser Alliser's boots." The boy laughed, right into her ear, and it was such a sweet sound. The sweetest thing she could possibly hear before battle. It was Rickon that finally let her go, his smiling face right before her very eyes.

"C'mon, Shaggy." With a brave face, Rickon and his direwolf ran up the stairs to gather the women and lead them to the Vaults like she told him to. Gathering herself on her feet, Aza tried to mentally prepare herself for the battle to come.

People would think that being a sellsword or a mercenary would prepare one for a fight like this, but Aza never had to fight to defend a castle before. People hired her for more personal matters that dealt with small groups or even a person or two. A hundred thousand men and women to slaughter in efforts to defend an order? This was something Aza never imagined being made to take part in. Still, a fight was a fight; life versus death was a way of life for her. It may have not been in the situation she has tasted and lived before, but Aza will fight until the very bitter end. She unsheathed Flyssa from her back, letting her sword's handle be tightly gripped in her hand as she looked at the Southern gates. Tormund, Ygritte, and the others would becoming that way while Mance would come from the Northern one.

When the horns blew twice again, Aza inhaled as much as she could and purged herself of all the anxiety that brewed within her. Men came flocking to the courtyard, the lift coming down behind her, and she caught Rowan standing at her side from the corner of her eyes. "Brothers!" Alliser shouted, making her look over her shoulder as she wondered why he left the top of the Wall to come down. It was probably for the best since Alliser was a capable swordsman. He was needed here than he was up there, but Jon was up there. She would feel better if Alliser stayed up there, giving them orders than to leave him with the archers and the pitch throwers, who were not a bit experienced. "A hundred generations have defended this castle. We've never fallen before. She will not fall tonight. Those are Thenns at our walls. They eat the flesh of the men they kill. Do you want to fill the belly of a Thenn tonight?"

"No!" The men shouted, sounding more confident than they did days before. Aza supposed they had no choice because death was coming whether they were ready for it or not.

"Tonight we fight and when the sun rises, I promise you, Castle Black will stand." Aza hated that man, but his speech did make her smile. The cheering did something to her heart; it had warmed it and prepared it.

"The Night's Watch will stand."

Her head turned to look at the southern gate. All the Wildlings that scaled it were now coming down, landing on their feet and charging forward. Aza launched herself forward, sliding to a halt to swing her sword in a large arc, slitting the stomachs of two Wildlings due to the length of Flyssa. If it had been a shorter blade, she would have to settle for fighting one Wildling individually and she didn't have the time for it when so many of them had managed to climb over the gates and tore large pieces of it apart.

All she could hear was the clangor of swords, shouting of the dying and war cries of the killers. All before her was red-stained snow; was it a brother's blood or had it been a Wildlings? You couldn't tell. People were falling left and right, some were blurs of black and others blurs of brown. Another blur of brown had came forward, axe in hand, and she had pushed out her right hand to grab the sharp edge. Her hand was bleeding, the axe was so sharp that it had cut through her leather glove and deeply into the flesh of her palm. She remembered this woman, she remembered seeing her in the caves when she bathed with the Dalla and the others. The Wildling had two children, a little boy and a month-old girl, at least she was that old last Aza had seen her. The thought of taking a parent away from two children had made mercy course through her.

So, Aza drove her fist into the woman's stomach, hitting her hard enough to make her gasp for air. As the Wildling began to fall forward, Aza flipped her around so that she landed on her back with a hard thud. "You won't be able to move for quite a while," Aza informed her, feeling the need to give explanation. "Just pretend you're dead. Stay alive for your children, please." The woman groaned on the ground, hand pressing onto her stomach. Aza hoped the woman would heed her advice before she made her way to her next opponent.

A bronze sword lashed out at her, but she bent and twisted away as if her body were made of water. She raised her leg to slam it into the Wildling's sword hand with full force. The sword tumbled from his sudden lack of grip and his eyes shot up to look at her in disbelief. Amidst his shock, she raised Flyssa and gave a sword-blow to his arm, cutting the limb clean off just inches above the elbow. He screamed, blood spraying all around as he wildly flailed and his severed lower arm fell to the ground. She drove her foot into his stomach, kicking him to the ground as he tried to stop the bleeding with his freehand and his cries of pain became harmonious with many others.

He would bleed to death if she left him like this. Aza could've gave him a merciful death by just putting an end to him, couldn't she? The guilt of watching him squirm and scream began to eat away at her and so she brought Flyssa down with both hands, gripping the handle tight. The blade sunk itself deep into his chest, right through his heart. Ending his life.

"Protect the gate!" Alliser screamed, making her lift her head to see that the gate was starting to fall apart due the Wildling onslaught. But as soon as she turned to look at Alliser, her eyes widened as she saw him engaged in battle with Tormund. Her throat tightened for a moment and she hesitated too, but when she saw him slice Thorne across the gut…

She ran.

Alliser had luckily fell off the platform and was dragged beneath inside. "Hold the fucking gate! Hold it!" he screamed before the door was shut. Aza jumped until she touched the wood-made rail and pulled herself up, landing onto the wooden floor and alerting Tormund, who spun to face her. When his eyes appraised her, his jaw tightly clenched.

"Little Crow," he called her, her heart flaring. He was mindful not to call her girl because he knew such an identity had to stay secret. Aza dared to not let her heart soften, not for him or ever again. They were not friends anymore. They were enemies.

"It's been a while, Tormund." Flicking off the wet blood that slid down the edge of her sword, she raised her left arm, pointing the very sharp end of Flyssa up at him to signal for a duel.

"It has." Tormund's shortsword had shone with fresh blood; Alliser's blood. His expression warped to a terrifying one as he whipped his sword through the air at her. She leapt back because when her sword had met his, she didn't tighten her hold enough and the weapon shivered as her arm shook from the blow.

He didn't just rely on his sword, but with his free fist too. Jabs and parries; feints and counter-feints. The battle between them flowed back and forth between them like a living thing, its changing, moving too fast for eyes to simply catch. Neither of them showed signs of tiring since the adrenaline kept them fully energized.

Even in the middle of the maelstrom of death and violence, Aza caught the sight of Tormund smiling. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, and yet she was smiling, too. She had managed to stall his next strike, her blade shivered under the brutality of his incredible strength. With one simple push, she was thrown across the platform, hitting her back squarely through the wooden railings. She met the ground with a bone-jarring thud and all the wind knocked out of her.

Aza gasped for air as her back felt bruised and pulsed with pain. Her eyes were springing with hot tears as she kept her mouth shut, hissing instead of screaming like she wanted to. "I'm not letting you go this time, Little Crow." Tormund announced as he followed after her, his sword whipping in a quick slash. She brought up Flyssa at the last moment, catching Tormund's strike before it could hit her as she tried to catch the breath she couldn't manage to keep. "Die in quiet, Little Crow. Stop your fighting and let me give you peace. If you keep on, I won't be easy on ya."

As merciful as those words were, she was offended. She wasn't going to accept death from him. Her sword began to tremble as Tormund's edged closer. _"The Night's Watch give all they can, no matter the situation."_ That was something Ser Jaremy would say if he heard Tormund's words. And so she used that as her strength to keep going. She used Jon's face to give strength back into her legs. She used Rickon's promise to stagger back. She took several steps back to prepare to attack again, but Tormund's sword licked out and blood erupted and splattered on the ground with the end result of her falling to her knees. He had gotten her, right across the stomach.

It wasn't as deep as her shrill cry made it seem to be, but damn did it hurt like hell. Her hand prodded the wound experimentally as she forced herself on her feet. She was not get going to die like this. As soon as she readied her sword to strike him again, an arrow whizzed by. She hadn't realized her cheek had been cut until she felt blood streaming down her face. Tormund's head whipped to the source and she followed his gaze to see it was Ygritte, who was drawing another arrow to let loose in her direction. "She's mine," Ygritte claimed, murderous intent in her eyes. Aza looked to Tormund, seeing his eyes narrow in reply.

"I said I'd let you get your vengeance on Crow, but I never said a thing about this one." Her eyes looked back and forth, ready to scoff at how the both of them were fighting over who would be the one to kill her. At this rate, her bleeding wound may do the job while they went at it.

When an arrow pierced Tormund in the back, he quickly turned and his eyes were filled with rage at the archer before looking back at her. Aza eyed him, wondering what he would do. Would he kill her or would he take care of the archer that was preparing to kill him? He looked at Ygritte and then back at her before turning to go back into the fray of battle.

He put her life in Ygritte's hands, at least that's how she saw it.

Snorting, Aza turned at the redhead Wildling, who aimed her arrow right at her. "I wonder how Jon Snow will feel when he sees the arrow in your heart," she said as Aza slowly frowned. "Will he shed tears or will he be dead, eyes lookin' at nothin' before he knows? I'd like t' think after I kill you, I'll put an arrow in him after."

"You still love him," Aza's words infuriated her. Another arrow grazed the same cheek, hitting a few increments lower than where the last one cut her. Ygritte knew how to sharpen an arrow head because it stung like nothing Aza felt before.

As she drew another arrow, Aza ran forward, knocking her into the ground in time before an arrow could properly fly. She pressed her hand against the flat edge of Flyssa's blade, trying to bring it close to Ygritte's pale, white neck. Metal of a blade had suddenly burned into the flesh of Aza's sword arm. "Grah!" she shouted as blood sprang from the stab wound. Ygritte had surprised her with a dagger and rolled them over so that she was on top of her now and Aza's back was on the hard ground of Castle Black. When the dagger was pulled from her arm, Aza hand sprung out, aiming to grab the handle of the blade before Ygritte brought the dagger back down, aiming right for her throat.

The tip of Flyssa emerged from Ygritte's back before the dagger could even scratch the skin of her neck.

Blood began to bubble out between her lips, trailing down the corners of her mouth. A deep, red stain began to devour the furs she wore as Aza kept the sword in her and Ygritte's eyes strained, trying to glare at her with white, hot rage.

Aza yanked the sword out of her roughly, blood splattering all over her face, tunic, and hair. Ygritte's body limply fell to the side and Aza continued to lay there because she was beginning to feel much too weak to move. The air had been so thick and oppressive, taking an effort for her to just breathe. Ygritte's body jolted as she coughed, blood continuously spilling out of her mouth.

"I didn't want to kill you…" Aza's voice was breathless as she turned her head at the dying Ygritte to her left while she spoke. "I didn't want to kill any of you."

"I know," Ygritte managed to say as she sputtered out blood. "I wanted t' kill ya…but you didn't feel the same about me. You're kinder than ya let on…"

"You too."

How funny would it have been if two women that loved the same man died together with smiles on their faces? Aza squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if she lost too much blood to keep on living. Her head felt light and her body was in pain all over. All she wanted to do was curl up and accept the darkness that tried to devour her vision. Before she could accept or even consider it, she saw something from the corner of her eyes. There was something white with a pair of red through her groggy sight. It whimpered sadly in her ear and Aza wondered if it is the Stranger in the form of something she feared, but the animal licked her cheek and growled afterwards. The Stranger would do no such thing.

"Ghost?" she whispered. "Is that you?" she asked knowing very well that an animal can't answer her. She reached out to touch the soft, white fur of the direwolf she used to fear so badly. "Ah, it is you." She's not dead yet and his flat, wet tongue licked her bloody cheek once more before he whimpered again. "Did Jon Snow tell you to find me?" She feels something poke her side, something wet, and her eyes lazily look over to see Shaggydog. She's surrounded by direwolves, but she's not afraid. In fact, she feels… happy. _Relieved._

"I suppose Rickon was right, yeah? You came to look for me… because I'm hurt…" Her lungs stung viciously when she attempted to laugh, which resulted in a coughing fit and then a whimper of her own. The wolves began circle her, providing a ring of protection, and she's left wondering why they care so much as to do something like that. Nobody dares to near her, and when they do, Shaggydog shoots forward to tear his canines into their throat and rip it out with his muzzle drenched in blood. Ghost growled menacingly with warning, letting his brother do the attacks so that she isn't left defenseless and alone. The wolves are smart as they are vicious.

"Aza!" Her head slowly turned and her eyes softened at the sight of him. Jaremy knelt down, placing one arm under her head to lift her halfway up. "Damn you, boy! How'd you let yourself get like this?" She's glad to know he's still alive and not in too bad of shape. He's drenched in blood, but Aza can tell that none of it is his own.

"I was reckless," she admitted, grinning like a fool, "but that's how I always am, yeah?" Jaremy didn't smile at her joke. She laughed anyway, entertained by her own self.

"C'mon, let's get you on out of here." Without so much of strain or issue, he gathered her in his arms and carried her. He was aiming to take her to the infirmary where she was sure many others were. There were probably others more worse off than she was and she was afraid to see of who she would find lying in there. All she prayed to the Warrior to keep Jon Snow alive and to see the end of this battle. She asked the Mother to keep Rickon, Gilly, and Osha safe in the Vaults. She didn't pray for herself. She was content to die seeing as she got to do everything she wanted thus far. As long as they were alive and safe, she could accept the brushing of the Stranger's lips against her own. He keeps stealing her breath, making her lungs feel halfway empty until he slowly took it all. The Stranger truly is cruel; he thinks she's worthy of a slow death than a quick one.

It takes full concentration for her to keep her eyes clear of their blur, so she can steadily focus on Rykker. Her mind warped him to gift her a vision of Jon Snow because it knew that it what he she really wanted to see. In a moment, she found herself smiling, sadly and softly; she was at ease for the first time today. It would be too tragic to die his arms, still she wants to see him. She wants to hear that stubborn heart of his in her ears, lulling her into a sleep she'll never wake from. That's how she really wants to die and it's crookedly selfish of her to want that.

Her peace shattered when her side sharply hit against the floor, pushing all the air out of her lung so she can cry noiselessly. Her eyes are bulged from her head in pain; hundreds and tiny beads of sweat conjuring all over her face as the fever she tried to ignore was starting to get worse. Aza lifted herself up by her elbows, seeing Jaremy lying on the step, hands twitching before clenching tight, an arrow protruding from his back just inches away from his heart.

"No!" she shouted, crawling over to him because she can't exert too much energy that she barely has. "No, no, no!" She refused to believe he's going to die. It's like losing Hadrian all over again and she doesn't know if she can accept losing someone else like that in her life again. Her breath labored as she crawled just a bit further. "You're alright, Ser Jaremy. You're alright." She's lying to him. She's lying to herself.

"Get that barrel," he said through clenched teeth. "Get that barrel and roll it on over here." Her eyes look right, seeing the wooden barrel he was mentioned, but written on it in black ink was the word oil. "Roll it here, Aza."

He was gonna set fire to the hallway, killing the Wildlings that would come up here. In the process, he would burn himself alive. "I can't…" she refused. "I can't let you do that."

"Do it!" he shouted at her. "Listen to me and roll the damn barrel over!" Aza lowered her head, shaking her head still. "If they make it up, they'll kill me and they'll kill you. If they go even further, they'll slaughter everyone in the infirmary."

Could she rest easy knowing she had let people die like that? Could she rest easy to know she met her end because she refused to burn a man already dying all because she cared for him? Grinding her teeth, Aza pushed herself up, standing up on wobbly legs. She pulled the barrel at the rim, knocking it over, and pushing it over to Rykker, who plunge his sword into it once it was close enough. The slit that the sword made had caused the oil to pour onto him and down the stairs, covering everything it could possibly touch. Using the wall to keep herself steady, she picked up the lighted torch and limped over to him. The Wildlings were steadily climbing up the stairs, she could hear them, and once they were close enough to realize what was happening, she forced herself to drop the torch right next to Rykker, lighting the entire stairway on fire with Rykker along with it.

In front of her was a radiant heat, intense, and it made her feel scorched just by being near it. Her mind was able to block out the screaming, even Rykker's own as she forced herself to watch. Her face was illuminated by the yellow glow of the roaring fire as it consumed everything. The smell of burning flesh dominated every inhale before the smoke acted as if it wants to char her already weak lungs.

Aza lowered herself to floor, watching the flames as tears washed over her eyes. She tried to blame it on the smoke because she knows Jaremy would see it unfit for her to cry over him. Hadrian hadn't wished it either because they were stubborn men who wanted to die as they wanted to. Rykker died for the Watch, Hadrian died for the Red Irons; both of them gave up their life for people not well worth it in her eyes.

All she really wants is for the dawn to come.

She wants all of this to finally be over.

Cheers began fill the air from outside.

The battle is done.

They've won.

* * *

 **A/N** : A lot happened in this chapter. Re-watching the Battle of Castle Black is really a mindfuck. I mean, everything happens so fast that I had to write this chapter in the same pace. Blink once and your fave non-major characters are dead. R.I.P Pyp and Grenn.

nzOptimist: I can't believe you said that... and I can't believe I laughed. :cccccc

PadfootCc: c: I'm glad you love them. I'm putting them through a lot, aren't I?

lilnightmare17: Your review makes me want to cry. There's just some canon things that people love and are afraid to be re-written or replaced. I like taking risks though and I like to think some things just wouldn't be the same under different circumstances. I definitely do, especially when I reach up the current season. c: He's definitely someone important and gifts? Well, I can't say much about that without giving anything away. Don't be sorry! Long reviews are amazing. It just lets me know how invested you are in this story! c:

guest: I'm glad you loved it and I love how you guys call him Torment because I laugh every time. Rickon deserves love. All of it after what he went through.

kate langdon: Seeing people happy about Rickon makes me happy.

minstorai: Jon Snow literally has the quickest reflexes because his battle with Styr is a true testament to that. I was like, "Whoa, how did he keep dodging like that?" This guy even got his head knocked into an anvil and still refused to die. She definitely did, I kept that canon, and even though her and Ygritte had a heart to heart, Ygritte was deadset on killing her. I can't believe you saw right through me with Osha. Lol. He's sooooo annoying and Jon is so hard to provoke because he knows better, but Aza is childish and she doesn't mind being petty. I can't imagine her not having nothing to say about him and when she finds out he was hiding in the storage? It's going to be ugly. All the brothers that definitely missed her ( except Sam, Edd, and Rowan ) are dead though and I'm sighing to oblivion. Their first time isn't really romantic because I wanted to give it realism, but Aza's thoughts of it are... _somewhat_. I'm going to explore Jon's side of their intimacy and I think it'll be much more sweet than how bluntly Aza sees everything. Lmao.

Actual lines. Lines and character progression that this poor child has been extremely deprived from. Why did they do that to him? It makes me so sad. I never really chose Ashley, I just like that picture at the time. I really fell in love with Chrishell when I first saw her, and oh I love Imaan. She really gives me Essos feels with some Dorne. Missandei is from Naath, which is in the same sea as the Summer Isles and not too far, like a good east of it. That doesn't make sense to me either since Naathi people are dark-skinned, round face, and golden eyes, but book features don't matter in Game of Thrones. Look at the Targaryens with their non-purple eyes. Still beautiful, but missing violet eyes and people say Jon's eyes are brown when they're a really dark grey. Lol.


	13. Chapter 12: Words not Hollow

**RICKON**

The infirmary is stuffy, noisy, and smelly. It reeks of blood and mixed poultices and it makes his throat burn when he has to swallow the bile that rises from just breathing it all in. The noises of the dying and the suffering change in volume with each passing hour, and there's so many people in here that they had to place some men on cots on the floor. He's only in the infirmary because they moved Aza here. Jon took the extra precaution of changing and dressing her wounds in her cell with the help of Osha before taking her to the infirmary to keep her secret safe. Her wounds were in safe places, but Rickon caught sight of the purple welts and bruises on her sides and back. Just looking at them made his own body shudder with pain he couldn't imagine that she must've felt. He wished she were back in her cell because sitting by her bed in the infirmary makes him feel cramped and sick.

Right now, as he swung his feet to and fro, his cheek against his palm as he watched the calming rise and fall of Aza's chest, just so he can make sure that she's still breathing. She looked as if she was sleeping, he assumed she was, and so he wondered if she was having such a good dream that she didn't want to wake up from. Rickon had dreams like that, too; ones that he didn't want to wake up from. He dreamed of Winterfell with his father, mother, and all his siblings back home before King Robert came. Sometimes he would dream of the times they would make the snow round in their hands and throw them at each other like they used to whenever the snow piled high enough. Theon was there sometimes in his dreams. The old Theon, not this newer one… the evil one.

He lifted his eyes to look up at Jon, who would gather Aza's hand in his and press his thumbs against the back of it. He only touched her when the moon was out and he thought everyone to be sleeping, even Rickon. His eyes would open, the moonbeams causing him to wake, and his eyes would curiously observe the affection his half-brother silently displayed. Jon looked so sad sometimes and Rickon sometimes worried if it meant Aza would never wake. He wondered if Jon and the Maester lied to him because they didn't want to tell him that Aza just might not live another day. People always would lie to him about things getting better. "You said the poppy milk was supposed to help," he spoke up, still whispering as he sat up a bit straighter. "Why isn't it working?"

"The milk of the poppy is working," Jon answered, a forced smile on his face that Rickon could easily recognize. He knew those kind of smiles, Bran would make them too whenever he tried to reassure him that things will change or get better. Rickon was not fooled easily by smiles like that anymore. "If the Maester didn't give him any, he'd be in a lot of pain and hardly be able to sleep. It hasn't been a whole day yet, we have to give it time."

Time. That word made him uncomfortable. With time, you had to wait, and sometimes waiting was too much to bear. He must be brave and patient, but it's hard and he doesn't like difficult things. "Maester Aemon said he lost a lot of blood." The boy frowned as he remembered the old man speaking of Aza's state of health. He said something along the lines that it was sheer willpower that kept her half alive for so long before had been found. Rickon knew that losing a lot of blood was a bad thing, what he didn't understand was if she lost enough to die or lost enough that would make it take longer for her to get better. "Can you give someone blood when they've lost so much of their own? I'd give her some of mine if it would be enough."

His brother reached a hand out, just to tousle his already messy and sweaty hair. "I know you would but things like that aren't possible." You can't replace blood like you replace clothes and other things you've lost, he just now learned. "In an hour, I'm going to go North of the Wall again."

Rickon's brows shot up before furrowing. "Why? Why will you go North?"

"To speak of peace with the Wildlings." Speak of peace? Jon would try to talk the Wildling leader into no more fighting? Jon was capable of doing almost the impossible in Rickon's eyes, but could he do that? He didn't very much think so. Who knows? He could be wrong. Lots of things happened that he didn't think ever could. "We've lost too much and we won't survive the night if they attack again." Usually, Jon tried to sugarcoat things and Rickon liked the way that Jon had let him understand their situation, even if it what he told him was scary.

"I'll watch over Aza," Rickon promised, eyes staring steadily at his brother to show conviction. "And if he wakes while you're away, I'll tell him where you've gone and that you'll come back." Jon smiled and Rickon couldn't help but to mirror him.

 **JON**

It was her face he thought of as he sat across Mance Rayder. He thought of how she was now, sleeping and probably rolling on the side of her fractured rib just to wince. She likes to sleep on her right side, he knows that for a fact. The time spent North of the Wall has made him aware of such minor things about her. He can even fully visualize how the features of her face were now, how much more softer they are as she sleeps because she isn't guarded or in her mood to play; she can't control her emotions or her face while in her slumber, so she's at complete ease and free of thinking. Although he preferred her awake, brown eyes full of warmth and lips playing about her usual grin, he knows that wanting that is selfish of him. At least, for right now it was.

She's in agony. The milk of the poppy is coursing through her body, subduing all the pain she harbors and he hardly knows what horrors she has witnessed during the battle. So Jon would rather let her rest, let her stay in a dream where the outside world isn't about to end for them. As she sleeps, Castle Black and everyone within its gates and walls is safe and the Wildlings are assumed to be defeated in her dreams. They may have won that night, but the fighting wasn't over and it will never be unless he convinces Mance that it was in their best interest for both sides to lay down their weapons.

He would've done what he came for, and much more smoothly too had it not been for the unexpected arrival of Stannis Baratheon. Ceasing the fight between the Night's Watch and the Wildlings would've been his victory of peace, but now it has been snatched from him. Mance had no other choice to but to surrender from the sheer number of Stannis Baratheon's large, heavily armored, and skilled men. Jon had only wished that the bloodshed wasn't necessary. Mance was now imprisoned, which was a mercy and a mercy Jon had wanted and suggested.

Once he returned to Castle Black with Stannis and his men, the pyres were already built so that his dead brothers could be burned and given words to be sent off to whatever waits for them in death. All the lives that had been taken pained him, especially once his eyes caught sight of Pypar, Grenn, and Donal Noye in the row of corpses. How was he to explain to Aza of their deaths? How was he even to explain of another that would hit her just as hard, if not harder? Since she could not bid them goodbye herself, he had done it in her place as Aemon's words came to an end and fire kissed the wood to engulf all it touched.

In that moment of goodbye, of hoping the old gods would give them peace and not seven hells, his eyes saw a woman donned in red. Right through the dancing flames, her face had become clear, and her eyes of blue had made him wary as he dared not turn away like a coward. Something in him told him to stay away, but something else told him that she would not. Whatever their silent gaze had meant, Jon had not trusted that anything good would come out of it.

When the bodies were burnt to ashes, all men of the Night's Watch were to leave their grief of brothers and friends lost. His feet wanted to lead him back to the infirmary, though his mind knew he had to go elsewhere. He went to the storage where they kept Tormund imprisoned; chained and wrists bound. Where he had no choice but to sit on the hard, wooden floor due to his restrictions. "Your old blind man patched me up," Tormund spoke first. Jon wasn't at all surprised, he knew this was not a meeting of former friends despite how much it felt like it was. "Why?"

"He's sworn to treat all wounded men, friend or foe," Jon answered him, standing beside the wooden pillar.

"You want me alive so you can torture me?"

As if torturing Tormund would be well worth anything. The man's stubbornness was like iron; you could not bend it nor break it in the amount of time you wished. Not only that, he would die before he gave any valuable information, and what would be the point now that they had Mance Rayder? Mance Rayder was who the Night's Watch wanted most of all. "No one's going to torture you."

"So how do we die?" he asked before listing all the possible ways; "Hanging? Beheading? Drop us from the top of the Wall?

Jon felt compelled to give him honesty, even if it was of no use. "I don't know what happens to the prisoners."

"Who decides?"

There was no acting Lord Commander and Ser Alliser was still having his wounds treated. The only other person that could make a decision like that was… "I suppose Stannis does."

"He your king now?" Jon didn't like that way Tormund asked that question nor how he looked at him.

"I don't have a king," Jon said without hesitation. Stannis Baratheon may have been a king or the true one as his followers claimed, but he was not Jon's. If there was any king that Jon held in his heart, it was Robb, but Robb was a king no more. The King in the North was gone.

"You spent too much time with us, Jon Snow." There was a glint in Tormund's eyes, something that Jon could interpret as pride. "You can never be a kneeler again."

He didn't want to think that there had been some truth in that. What if while he feared of Aza becoming too much like one of the Free Folk that he ignored that he had been doing the same? Ignoring it all, he decided to speak on much important matters. "We're gonna burn the bodies of your dead. Do you want to say any words over them?"

"Words?" echoed Tormund, honestly confused as to what Jon was asking him. "What kind of words?"

"Funeral words," he explained, shrugging his shoulders some. Jon had no idea how they dealt with their dead other than burning them before they turned. "I don't know how the Free Folk do it."

"Do what?"

"Say farewell."

Amused, Tormund gave him a simple answer. "The dead can't hear us, boy."

Seeing as he had nothing else to say, Jon gave him an understanding nod with every intention of leaving. "Snow," Tormund called him, making Jon's steps slowly come to a stop. He slowly turned to look at him, wondering what had been on his mind. "How is she?" Tormund asked. "The Girl Crow. I know she's still alive."

"Her wounds aren't fatal and she needs days of rest, she'll be fine soon enough." Jon gave Tormund a small smile, knowing that Aza wouldn't have minded if Tormund had been informed of her condition. Tormund, however, looked as if he was relieved before he looked away.

"That little girl is not so easily killed." Jon watched as Tormund shifted where he sat, trying to become comfortable. "She must've been the one to kill Ygritte." And that's when Jon found himself frowning, his brows furrowed. He had hoped that it wouldn't have come to that. He hoped that Ygritte, if she were to die, would have met her end by the hands of a person she hadn't known. It also made sense to him now as to why Aza's cheek had been inflicted with two cuts from an arrowhead. "I would've rather lost neither one," Tormund said with his head low, "but I knew one of them would be dead when I left them."

Jon's eyes lowered, guiltily. "You may have not loved her, but she loved you. All she ever talked about was killing you and that's how I know. She belongs in the north. The _real_ North. You understand me?" Would it have been right? Would Ygritte would have liked for him to be the one to burn her corpse. He owed her, he felt like owed it to Ygritte to give her peace. Knowing that, Jon didn't hesitate more about it and gave Tormund a nod that he would give Ygritte the proper goodbye she deserved.

 **AZA**

 _Birdsongs, airy and sweet, are sung in lulls and bursts. They give life to this place that looks so frightening and empty. Trees after trees are all around her like a sea of green and brown while the air is not warm but neither is it cold. It's the perfect balance and the breeze gives her comfort than it ever gives her shivers. The woods feel alive in all the wrong ways, but her feet keep going forward; her feet know where to go while her mind doesn't know._

 _In the sea of woods, settled in deep, is a hut. Orange glows from the windows, signaling someone was inside with the candles lit. While her mind conjectures that she was meant to go here, she wonders why she does not feel like this place was strange. Aza has never been here before but she knows she must be here, though the reasons remain unknown. And so she walks, walks without stopping, and goes up the small steps and her hand reaches for the handle of the door._

 _"Child, Summer child, I've been waiting. I've been waiting long and patiently, but I knew you'd come when the dawn has peaked."_

 _It's that voice. It's the voice from that dream that comes and goes whenever it wants. It's the voice of that woman telling her of the seasons and what they mean, and how Aza is ignorant of them all and their significance. She finally gets to confront this stranger who plagues her nights randomly, and she should be afraid but she's not._

 _"Who are you?" she asks the question she had long thirsted to ask. The door is fully opened and in this small home, just a good many steps away, is an old woman. Her lips are thinned and leathery, nose bumpy with a collection of warts, and her eyes are truly a terrifying yellow with nothing but layers of crust on the rims and corners. She sits in a chair, a chair that Aza did not think to be comfortable._

 _"Who am I? I think you know that I am what they call a woods witch, but does my name need to be said? You're before me with a purpose and no more. Do you know of that purpose?"_

 _Aza shakes her head, feeling vexation that she doesn't know anything; why she's here and who this woman is. "I don't know, and I'd wish you say it then talk of what I don't know, old woman."_

 _The witch laughs, or rather cackles. "And they say all who carry the name of the starfire do not bear such lack of temperance." Confused, Aza's pries her lips apart to ask what did she mean yet the woman interrupts her. "What do you know of wood witches, girl?"_

 _"The Wildlings say that wood witches give potions and tell fortunes," Aza replies with little hints of uncertainty, "but I never asked for either."_

 _"That's quite true, you've never asked." The old woman's lips curve upward in a smile, one that would set a chill in any person's bones. "But your heart sought me and you've always been gifted at ignoring what you don't like or understand."_

 _That strikes a nerve and Aza frowns, deeply. "If you made me come here just to insult me then I'd rather leave, you crone."_

 _"A crone? I've gotten quite fat, but crone is a rather lovely compliment to a woman like me," she says, smiling some more, "but you're right, you were brought to me by the wills of the greaters than what many of us do not know. I do tell fortunes and I am meant to tell yours. Do you have the questions? Think of them and think them well." The wrinkly hands of the witch soon searches for a knife and grabs one whose edge is sharper than it should be. It makes Aza wonder if she cuts more than meat with it._

 _Her hand that holds the knife comes close to Aza, wanting her to take it. Aza keeps her eyes on the sharp weapon before lifting the to look at the witch. "What's the knife for?"_

 _"Your blood, Summer child," she says playfully, "all I need is just a taste of it."_

 _Aza shakes her head, not liking that the woman seeks her life's blood. "I do not need my fortune read. The greaters, these gods or whomever you speak of, that want you to taste my blood can piss on that. Fuck your gods and your fortunes if I have to pay some bloody price to hear some of your ramblings."_

 _She turns to leave, ready to walk out of this small hut of a home and back into the forests. Before her feet take her anywhere, the woman makes her boots feel like they have iron inside of them._ _"You'll never leave and the future will change, and the person you want to protect most will be taken from you." Her heart tightens at that, knowing that it must be Jon. "Do you desire that?" All her fears and hesitation become extinct for a moment. She spins on her heels and her hands reaches for the knife swiftly. She uses the sharp tip of it to cut not so deeply at the tip of her forefinger and it bleeds; the blood the witch needs is oozing from the small wound._

 _The cold, frail hand of the witch grabs and locks her wrist and Aza is pulled forward. Her finger becomes wet, lathered by the icky tongue of the old woman, who gets the taste she requires. Aza yanks her hand away immediately, eyes looking at the finger that has temporarily stopped bleeding while still wet with the saliva of the woods witch._

 _"Only three questions," she repeats as if Aza has forgotten that, "and whether or not you like the answers is up to you, Summer child."_

 _What to ask? Aza can ask what she means that the person she wants to protect will be taken from her, but it was only said that it would happen if she left. The other first thought to come to mind was… "My mother," Aza voice grows soft, nearly quiet, "is she still alive?"_

 _The old woman's wicked look only makes her think the worse. "Oh yes, she's still very much alive, and very much free. The dragons have paid their dues to your mother. She will be given all of what she is owed by them."_

 _A variety of emotions sweeps through Aza: happiness, relief, and bewilderment. Her eyes sprung with tears and they fell without her able to fight them. Aza soon uses the back of her wrist to wipe her wet eyes, and she sniffles ever so often while trying to control her outburst of emotion._

 _"Next question." Impatient now, the woods witch tilts back her head with half-hooded eyes. "We do not have much time together. Ask and remember all that was once said here and keep the future that is willed. Many obstacles will come your way. In fact, I believe they'll come to see you now."_

 _Aza had no time to pry on what she means and so she thinks carefully of her next question. "Will I be apart of the fight against the White Walkers?" It was an inevitable battle. Aza knew that running from them would be of no use and the Night's Watch was birthed long ago to battle more than just Wildlings. Samwell, when he told her that a third horn blown was created a thousand years ago against White Walkers, her conscience had reason to believe that she would soon meet them. Jon and Sam had already seen them and soon she as well as everyone else will too._

 _"In three years time, days, weeks, and even moons of darkness will come. There will be no light of day, only the pitch of night; nights that will never end. You'll find that dawn won't arrive until every last creature of ice meets their end and thaws the long Winter away. You will be there, donned in onyx glass, and at the side of the prince who was promised that holds the morning."_

 _The prince who was promised? It doesn't make much sense and it sounds like a child's tale; like some sort of savior for little boys to want to grow up to be. Still, she would not question the witch. It wouldn't do her any good to dismiss anything, even though all of this could be some dream that her mind unwillingly conjured up to escape what she endured._

 _Now all that is left is the last question, and Aza isn't sure what to ask. Her mind scours for anything she wants to know and rather suddenly, it comes to her. "Will I live to see the Spring?" she asks, but then hurriedly clarifies what she means. "The true one, not another false one."_

 _The woman titters. "Quite a question, Summer child, I commend you for thinking so far ahead." Aza can't help but wonder if that had been an insult or genuine praise. "You will see the Spring, and it will have all that you've dreamed."_

 _Aza felt relief that she would have some more years to her life, but it makes her feel heavy to not know whether or not if Jon would live to see it. How selfish was it of her that none of her questions centered him? He was such an important part of her life, but she did not seek to know if he would stay in it. Perhaps a part of her always knew that the only reason they crossed paths was by accident and not some act of fate._

 _"The time has come for you to leave me, Summer Child." The old witch's eyes lingers on the bloody tip of her knife as Aza sees the wound she self-inflicted with it, still bleeds. "It's time for you to wake."_

 **RICKON**

"Asher, you have to take the kitchen shift soon."

Already aware that he didn't have the luxury of staying in the infirmary much longer, Rickon tried to fix the flowers he found at the corners of Castle Black. He didn't know flowers could grow in snow, but these had and he thought Aza would like to see them once she woke up. His mother used to like when he gave her a handful of flowers, especially when she was feeling ill with a slight cold. She would put them in a vase in her bedchambers. Aza, however, was different, he started to realize. What if she didn't like them? She might think of them too womanly, but even Arya liked flowers and she was like a boy sometimes. He had no one to ask if it was something Aza would like or not since Jon seemed quite busy with new rounds of duties. He was only able to see Aza whenever his schedule allowed it now, which was less than before.

"I know," Rickon finally responded as he moved one flower to the far right. He couldn't remember how his mother used to arrange them in efforts to make them look pretty. "Do you think he'll like them? The Maester said that flowers in the infirmary makes the men feel better and gives them color to see." Or something like that, he can't quite remember all that the old man had said.

Olly nodded understandingly before giving him a small smile. "Hobb won't care about that, though. He needs you down in the kitchens, not fixin' up flowers." Wrinkling his nose, Rickon glanced back at Aza for a brief moment before turning on his heel and meeting Olly at the doorway. "He'll probably make you peel the onions since you're so late."

He hated peeling onions because they made his eyes burn and teary. He remembered he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down and Osha told him that it was something he would get used to. Everyone told him that's how it was at first, and sometimes the stinging never goes away and the smell won't leave his hands half the time. Still, he would take being an onion peeler more than being a spit boy. The men forced to that task knew nothing but sweat and pain.

"Did you see the Princess Shireen?" Olly had asked him once they were on the walkway, tasting the Autumn air that was colder than usual.

"No, but some of the men say she's scary." She was much older than him too, he heard. She was of the same age as Arya, making her two-and-ten. How scary could a girl her age be? Rickon never heard why they said she was scary in the first place. When the men burned their dead Watchmen, he had been in the infirmary. He only saw King Stannis Baratheon by glance and he seemed like a scary man himself.

Olly looked around, making sure no one was watching them. "She has greyscale all o'er her face." Rickon was confused more than he was stunned. "It makes her look, well, ugly."

Furrowing his brows, Rickon wondered what greyscale was. It sounded like it should be something he should know about and scales were only for animals, like dragons and sorts. Did she have scales like a dragon, but they were grey? It didn't sound so hideous to him. "I don't understand why that makes her ugly or scary."

"If she touches you then you'll get it too and then the greyscale will take o'er your body and kill you!" Now that Olly put it like that, Rickon found himself deathly afraid. He never wanted to set eyes on Shireen Baratheon, let alone touch her.

"Don't worry though, she's in a tower far away from here and won't do us any harm. Her mother won't let any o' us close to her." Olly clapped his back, the Stark still remained unsettled.

His eyes looked away from Olly to look down at the floor, his hands trembling out of his sudden spike of fear. That's when he saw a red bottom of a dress and when he looked up, he saw a woman in red. Her blue eyes were gazing at Olly first before they fell on him and Rickon felt his fear grow more for his woman than the greyscale princess. "Do not be afraid," she softly tried to ease them, but Rickon found himself more afraid just because she said that. He took a step back, ready to run away from her. "I only need a question answered and I'll leave you both."

His mother always said it was rude to run from strangers, but strangers weren't always kind. If he was supposed to grow to be a proper man, he had to face things and people he didn't like, just like Jon does. "What is that you want?" Olly, more courageous than he was, had asked her that with his frown visible.

The Red Woman merely smiled, not at all offended by his tone nor expression. "Could either one of you point to me where the infirmary is?"

"What is that you want in the infirmary?" Rickon found his bravery, all because he was wary of this woman stepping in a room where a defenseless Aza laid. "You know no one there."

"The Lord of Light wishes for me to go," she explained, leaving Rickon's wits scrambled as she mentioned this 'Lord of Light'. Her pale hand reached out to touch him, but Rickon took another step back and all she touched was air. "He says for me to pray over the wounded and give strength to his believers."

"None of them believe in the Lord of Light," Rickon retorted all the while unsure of that exactly. He spoke on feeling that Aza wouldn't believe in something like this Red Lady did.

The woman's eyes crinkled and it brought Rickon no joy to see her smile. It made his heart pulse faster and dread cling onto with a weight akin to a human's body on his small shoulders. "R'hllor has been in many people's hearts, but they have yet to recognize him there. He loves all his followers, old and new as well as the foolish and the blind."

All of her words were confusing. He wanted to be free of her and found himself closing his eyes tightly, just to wish for her to go away. Olly grabbed his arm, yanking him from giving what was almost a prayer to the Seven. "If your Lord of Light knows so much, why don't he let you find the infirmary on your own? Let's go, Asher." And he was pulled—actually dragged—away, but Rickon turned back to look at the pale woman donned in crimson just to see her let out a huff of air.

"What if she finds the infirmary?" Rickon whipped his head to Olly as he spoke. "I can't let her go. She might do something."

"If anything happens we'll tell Jon that it was of her doing," Olly said, confident in Jon as if he were his own blood brother. Rickon didn't like this, but what other choice did he have?

"We should tell Jon right now where the Red Lady is going." His friend sighed, almost like he didn't understand the severity of this situation.

Olly stopped walking, right when they were in front of the kitchens. "If you're scared that much then I'll go tell Jon now. You need to be in the kitchens doin' your duty." He reminded him, making Rickon suddenly feel guilty.

"Alright," he mumbled, knowing that he should believe none would come to harm once Jon knew of the Red Woman's plans.

 **AZA**

Her eyes were heavier than they ever were before and still glazed over with the remnants of her dream. The quiet, dark, and empty woods was fading from her vision quite slowly, and she's starting to see that blur of brown and green slowly ease in this loud and deep figure of red. Squinting, she tried to focus on whatever it was but to no avail. So, she closed her eyes for a few seconds more, and her ears were no longer filled with birdsongs but the coughs and groans of sick, wounded, and tired men. She can now also feel the cool cloth that lightly swipes and presses repeatedly against her forehead and travels to different spots to wipe away the sweat and push back the oncoming fever that threatens to begin anew. When her eyes opened again, shock coursed through her body.

Sitting at her bedside is a woman she has never seen before. She is not any of the whores or the village women that she has come to recognize by voice, name nor face. This woman, who had bold red hair that was pulled back and brushed so neatly and tumbled down her back in crimson waves, is a complete stranger. Her eyes were a cold shade of blue and too busy fixed on wiping her forehead in careful movements.

"Do not curse yourself with fear." Aza's brows began to knit together, trying to decipher why the woman's voice was thick with an accent she didn't recognize. "I do not intend to bring you harm."

Her throat felt unbelievably dry, so talking was fruitless. She pulled in her lips, trying to wet them, but it was in vain. She was too much in dire need of water. Confused and parched, she doesn't know what to focus on first. Aza won't even begin to try to understand how long she has slept or what happened since she was last awake. If she tried to remember anything, she'll end up repeating the scene of Rykker's death in her mind's eye and that's the last thing she ever wants to think of.

Her hand slowly rose from off the bed to touch her throat, thumb skimming across the pulse of it as she tried her best not to invoke any reason for it to hurt. As if she understood what such actions had meant, the redheaded woman rose from her chair and placed the cloth atop of the end table next to the cot. Aza watched as she strolled to the pitcher that sat on the desk at the far end of the infirmary to fill a nearby, empty tankard with water.

While the woman poured her something to drink, Aza swallowed the scream that was stuck in her throat as she tried to lift herself halfway to sit up. Her side was throbbing with pain that burned like fire, her back felt incredibly sore, and she did not want to give sound to her pain, especially in front of a stranger. What is she to do, however, when her hand wanted to feel on what she assumed to be a fractured rib? Should she swallow her pride and sit with the idea that she was wounded or should she pretend she's not as worse off as she seems?

In her hesitation, the tankard was proffered and Aza accepted it with both hands and gave a stiff nod to show her gratitude. The cool rim against her dry, cracked lips had soothed her and brought her greater pleasure which was the rush of water inside her mouth and down her desert-like throat. Water may have not been a drink without flavor, but it was a godssend when it was all you needed and had. She savored it, feeling the dryness of her throat be somewhat alleviated. She'll need several tankards of water until she felt her thirst is satiated, still she would not look like a mad person in front of this complete, odd stranger.

"Who," her voice cracked, making her clench her teeth momentarily before she tried again. "Who… are you?" Raspy and quiet as ever yet still easy to understand.

The woman went back for the pitcher and refilled her tankard, Aza voiced her thanks this time and drunk it all down in one gulp again. "Who I am is of no importance." The corner of Aza's lips dipped down to make a frown as she wiped her wet lips with the back of her hand. "But who are you gives me a great deal of curiosity."

What was it with these witches who knew so much that she didn't know? Perhaps it was rude of her to assume that this woman was a witch. She looked like one, though; a beautiful one, but a witch nonetheless. "How great must I be?" Aza sarcastically retorted, snorting as she put the empty tankard harshly on the end table. She was heavily annoyed about these sorts of people knowing things about her that she didn't even know herself. She was even more annoyed that she could not find herself unable to escape this situation even if she wanted to.

"Great enough to to be in the Long Night by the side of the warrior of fire." Slewing her eyes towards the woman's way, Aza had just about enough of this conversation already. All these foreign gods and their heretics; both her and the woods witch believed in these strange gods. Out of her vexation, she had strongly missed the woman speaking of the Long Night that the woods witch mentioned.

"I do not wish to be apart of the plans of your god." The red woman smirked, almost as if she had not been rejected and had every right to be amused. "I am not his puppet that he wields the strings of."

Sitting back down onto the wooden seat, Aza watched the woman fold her hands atop of her lap. "The Lord of Light cares whether or not you wish to be apart of his plans. He does as he will, he takes what he will, and he furthers what he will. He already holds the strings of us all."

"He sounds irritating." Aza rolled her eyes, leaning against the feather pillow that was clearly worn out. It doesn't bring comfort to her back, but it is all she has and so she won't complain. "Tell your Lord of Light to leave me be. I am grateful of the kindness that you have shown me. However, I will not give the same politeness to your god. I want no dealings with him and you can tell him that for yourself if only his believers can hear him."

A scoff and a titter filled the air after the awkward silence settled. Aza kept her brown eyes elsewhere to give the woman a sign that this conversation was done. She wanted to speak no further of this Lord of Light, and she didn't want to speak to a mad heretic anyway.

The chair creaked when the witch rose again and she slowly sauntered her way to the door. As her hand reached the handle, hair of red gently swayed due to the motion of the woman's head. "Ignore him if you wish, but the Lord of Light will show you that he is not one to be ignored. As you claim, he wields the strings."

"I've ignored plenty of gods and haven't been struck down yet. He won't be the first I refuse and he most certainly won't be the last," Aza jeered, waving her hand in full dismissal. Laughing wasn't the best thing to do in her condition, she was mildly entertained by the thin-laced threat of this Lord of Light believer. Just seeing the woman's twisted expression made her want to laugh again, but when the red woman opened the door, she stood still. Before her was Jon Snow, who stared at the witch rather intensely. Aza watched in silence as his frown grew deep and his eyes narrowed accusingly.

He didn't say a word, however, and the red woman slipped away to go down the stairway after that strained quiet between them. It made her wonder if he must've been witness of the ramblings of her god as well. Whatever the reason for his wariness, she was just happy to see him. She was more than happy to see that he didn't suffer from serious wounds. He walked fine, didn't slouch or flinch uncomfortably, and he didn't seem to have lost any limbs. Even his bruises seemed to be fading, almost like they were never even there.

"And who said I wanted to see your pretty mug today?" Aza playfully said, lowering her head and randomly looking down at her hands that she didn't know why they were tended to as well. One palm was covered with fresh, white bandages like they had been recently changed. Amidst her confusion as to how she suffered a hand wound, a brief flicker of a memory of her cutting her hand on a axe's edge came to mind to clear up some of her foggy recollection of that night.

"I'm not leaving if that's what you want," he retorted in jest, already occupying the seat the red woman taken. The one right at her bedside. "How do you feel?"

"It hurts to breathe deep," she answered him honestly, looking at him with a wry smile. "I have to take shallow breaths." Nevermind her aching back or her sore throat, she only spoke about the fractured rib since she was sure he was aware of it. "Other than that, I'm alright, but how long was I asleep?"

"Nearly a week's time." That didn't sound too bad, and she was happier that she had not slept longer. It was still long enough to irk her yet good enough to not have her increasingly fret over all that she missed. "When we found you, I almost thought you were…" He didn't finish what he was going to say, but she knew what he was alluding to. Like a child about to do something sneaky, his eyes searched around the infirmary to see if they were being watched before he took both her hands in his.

Just the small touch of the soft pad of his thumb caressing across a few of her knuckles made her flustered and her face feel warm all at once. It wasn't the sickly warmth either, just the only kind of warm that Jon Snow can make her feel. The smile on her face had came easy as he kissed each each finger individually as if he couldn't spare to give one attention and not the other. "I wouldn't have died that easily," she said, trying to remain strong still, even if a good half of her emotions were still stunted. "You'll never be rid of me, Jon Snow." She gave him a grin to erode his worries and fear. "Not now or ever and you best remember that."

Her eyes observed the way his shoulder had shook as he laughed. Seeing happiness after that grim expression he wore seconds ago was the best medicine; a hundred times better than milk of the poppy. The effects of it was still in her system, but she was too much aware to let it force herself in a state of absolute drowsiness. It may have felt like yesterday since she last saw Jon Snow to her, but for him it had been nearly a week since he saw her awake. He deserved to see her as herself than the wounded girl who slept for hours on end.

"Did you…" Clearing her throat, Aza pulled in her bottom lip to bite it for a moment. Was it right for her to ask if farewells have been given for all they lost? She halfway didn't want to know all who had fallen that night, but ignoring it wasn't going to make her feel any better. Ignoring it won't also bring the dead back to life. "Did you burn the dead already?"

Jon's nod was slow, his eyes not wanting to look up from her hands. "You want to know, don't you? It might be better to wait, you just woke up and—"

"I _want_ to know." Her voice hardened to show her seriousness and she was not about to accept him shielding her from the truth. He held her gaze, clouds had burst and softened in his eyes despite the defiance they had. All he wanted to do is for her to mind her health and not stress herself, and she loved him for that. Her mind was still stuck on wanting to know of those she won't ever see again. " _Please_ ," she softly begged, knowing that it's rare for her to plead without demanding too much.

He hesitated at first, his jaw working but no words coming out. Then he lowered his eyes, acting as if he couldn't meet her own and kept his focus fixed on her hands instead. The list of names soon spilled out, shocking her with each name that was said. Grief began to overwhelm her, inch by inch, and the room began to feel stuffy to the point it was becoming difficult to breathe as much as she already barely could. Noye died impaled by several different weapons while keeping the Wildlings from storming a tower like Rykker had. Pypar had died from an arrow that pierced him right through his throat. Grenn had met his end in the tunnels by Mag the Mighty, and that death could've been avoided had it not been Othell and Ser Alliser.

Her bottom lip quivered and she forced it to stop by biting down on it. If she bit it any harder, she was sure she would pierce the flesh and draw blood, but she was trying to reel in her grief. Pypar and Grenn had been like brothers and Donal had been a good friend and familiar face. "Damn it all," Aza mumbled, not knowing how to console herself.

Jon's grip on her hands tighten some in efforts to comfort for her, but his eyes only grew sadder. He looked as if he more to say and she was beginning to regret for being so stubborn. "I went to see Mance," he began, pressing the back of her fingers against his forehead as he kept his head completely lowered. "I knew they would attack the night after if I didn't try to talk to him." Her fingers twitched in his grasp, feeling anxiety flaring and brewing in the pits of her stomach. "I'm sorry, Aza, but he told me that Dalla…Dalla is dead."

Shock surged with every shallow, expelled breath as the entire world became so quiet that she couldn't hear a single thing. Her eyes blinked, slowly and absently, lips apart as she was stuck in a complete loss for words. Her mind didn't want to comprehend what he said. In fact, it wanted to ignore it, disprove it even. Not a single thought in her head wanted to believe that Dalla was gone. Not the sweet one, who had a kind heart and a soft voice. Not the one who loved her baby without even meeting it yet. Not the one who had comforted her, spoke to her, and protected her when she nothing but a stranger to her and it felt like her world crumbled to pieces when her secret had been discovered. How could Dalla have died, and so suddenly too?

"The baby…" she muttered, drowning in grief and shock. "Did she die with the baby?"

"She died giving birth to it," Jon clarified and it sounded much like the truth despite how she hoped it to be a lie. That was the only death Dalla could ever succumb to. She would've done all she could to give her baby a chance at life. She would do absolutely anything, even if it meant she were to die in the process. "The baby is alive and healthy."

 _"I want my baby to know sun and places of green. I want them to know that there's more to life than the cold ol' North. I want them to do all of what I've never done. If I am to die a lil' too soon, could you show them, Aza? Could you show them your South that you love so much? Show them places where the sun doesn't hide away and the snow doesn't chill them every morning and every night."_

Aza cursed the Stranger many times over and tried to choke back the sob that was much more powerful than she thought.

 **JON**

He eyed the brown, wooden bowl in his hands before curiously looking at the cell door. Rickon was supposed to be the one to deliver Aza's meals, but he took the initiative to do it in his stead. Around this time, Jon made it his priority to train the recruits and even Olly since Aza thought that Rickon shouldn't learn the long or greatsword. She claimed that he wasn't fit for it because he was too small and skinny, and the sword would overwhelm him then it would aid him. She suggested the Falchion sword because it suited him and required speed along with fluidity. The only problem was the fact that Aza was the only one who could train him with it, but her body was still recovering from the battle nights ago. The Maester said she needed bedrest and Jon wondered just when she was going to sneak her way out of it.

He spent so much time standing in front of the door that when he finally opened it, he found her not to be there. With a sigh, he looked down at what was supposed to be her dinner. It was a bowl of wheat-and-cream, which surprisingly happened to be a dish she liked. The Maester suggested soups, broths, and creamed food until she was fit for heavier and tougher meals, and she had been happy since she liked Hobb's soups more than she liked half the other 'things' since Jon couldn't explain half of his creations. The cook worked with what he had and Jon could never fault him for that.

"Where did she go?" he mumbled, asking himself that. There weren't many places he could think of her going to other than the courtyard, the kitchens, and the library. She wasn't in neither of the first two and so he decided on the third, putting the bowl of wheat-and-cream on a small table in her because he knew it was going to be cold regardless.

It didn't take long to find her, she was just barely making her way out of the wormwalks. Stubborn as always, he watched as she leaned against the wall for a few minutes, knowing that had to catch the breath she barely had. She was winded just from traveling all the way down here because she wasn't in the best condition. He watched her let out a dry heave before resting her hands on her knees, trying to gather herself. "You're supposed to be on bedrest," Jon said as he inched closer, reaching his arm out so she could use him to hold onto, but she slapped his hand away.

"I'm fine!" she shouted defiantly, bottom lip sticking out in a furious pout with her eyes narrowed menacingly. He raised his hands, surrendering, and soon crossed his arms just to watch her struggle to take a few more steps. She needed a longer break than that, but if he spoke then he was _nagging_. He couldn't imagine how she must've been as a child, nosy and completely hard to tame. Could her mother even keep her tucked in bed?

If they were to ever have a child, he prayed to the old gods that it would never have her temperament. If it had her stubbornness, just how wild would it be? He stopped for a moment, standing completely still, wondering why he had just thought those things. In his mind was a little boy or a little girl with her big, brown eyes that was able to lure him into their bidding just as easily as she could. They would be a bastard, one he told himself he'd never have, but the thought of a tiny person that looked like either one of them hadn't made him feel guilty nor sad. _It made him feel happy_. He hasn't even asked if she had managed to steal some of the moon's tea from the whores that she quickly schemed to do. It never even crossed his mind that she could be pregnant. That she could very well be with child at this very moment… No, she couldn't be. The Maester would've discovered if it were true, but still…

"Did you ever…" He tried to think of way to ask her without upsetting her, but nothing seemed to come to mind. "Did you ever get some moon tea?"

Aza stopped walking, a little taken aback by the question. It did seem sudden as well as random, but it was still important. "Of course I did." He felt sad and relieved by her answer while she looked at him as if had no wits left. "Osha helped me."

"Osha…" he echoed, "helped you?"

"Aye," she replied in a pretty mousy way, and Jon swore that he saw her blush. Her face was scrunched up like an annoyed child as she lifted her eyes to look up at him. "Osha knows we fucked, alright? I had to tell someone. I've never been with a man before and I wanted to know from another woman who knew about these things. I trust her to teach me about things like that…"

In his embarrassment, he couldn't help but to find her flustered face and reasoning… cute. His face flared with heat and he knew his face to be red, but he didn't care. "I'd rather you not say it like that…" Is that what they did? Was it just fucking? Even he, himself, found the conversation at hand too awkward to speak about it. He certainly wasn't awkward while it was happening, just speaking about it, however, was like an an entirely different matter. She didn't romanticize their coupling and it wounded him to know she thought it as just sex or as vulgar and bluntly as she put it, _fucking_. It wasn't that, at least not to him, and he had no idea if telling her that would change anything.

"That's what we did, yeah?" Aza asked, brow raised. "We fucked. People fuck all the time." These were one of the many moments where he wished Aza took a more feminine point-of-view. Why couldn't she say it as lovemaking, like most girls had done, he realized that most men sometimes didn't use that term unless they were heels over head or head over heels—he can't remember the bloody phrase all that well. While love is new to him, he knows he feels it for her. He has been aware of it for a while now. "Is it better to say we made love?" It was what he wanted for her to say and believe, wasn't it? And now that she had said out loud, he felt nervous and conflicted. "Did you make love to me, Jon Snow?"

Jon swallowed down regret for bringing this subject up. He has been carefully avoiding telling her his true feelings because he's afraid she doesn't feel the same. She may have not loved him, but was just a curious girl who wanted to explore what physical intimacy was. She only chose him because she trusted him and liked him more than anyone else. It didn't have to do anything concerning love as much as he hoped it to be. Aza had been so forward about most things and if she loved him, she would say it, wouldn't she? She wouldn't cower from it. She's usually so brave about saying most things on her mind that this shouldn't have been so difficult. Then he remembered, she just doesn't speak her affection. She displays with a kiss or a touch, but how is he to decipher how deep her feelings go by that alone? Even more so now that he realize sex doesn't invoke much emotions from her.

He couldn't run from it forever, though. When he found her lying on the floor, her blood soaking through the floorboards and barely breathing, he regretted not telling her he loved her before. While she laid in bed, the Maester unsure of her condition while a fever made her skin glisten with sweat, he wanted to tell her he loved her then, but then he thought he'd rather her be awake and sound mind. She's awake and sound, and normal again yet the words never want to come out because of his fear of rejection. He's been rejected plenty of times and to be rejected by her was something he couldn't very much live with.

"Rickon thinks we're in love," said Aza with a small smile on her face. "He says you look at me like your father used to look at Lady Stark." Aza's smile didn't leave nor waver. "Are we?" Her laugh lacks mirth, and he can tell her nerves are spiked by the way her hands twitch, wanting to make fists but at the same time not wanting to. "Are you?"

It was like she was daring him to say it now. Like she knew he would say no because that's what he is supposed to say. "Maybe."

She shook her head, eyes still glued to him. "You aren't in love with me. You aren't and it's okay." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself of that than it sounds like she's trying to convince him of what he already feels. "You said have feelings for me and that's good enough. It's more than enough."

"But I could be." Jon took a single step,."I could be in love with you. Eventually. Some day." _Already._

He wasn't prepared for the look of sadness written across her face. "Do you know how stupid it would be if we were in love?"

"You've called me stupid plenty of times." It was the truth although he said it as a joke. When was there not a time where she's ridiculed his intelligence and actions? Only to him, though. To others, she proudly boasts of his wit.

"Sorry I'm late," Samwell came down the final steps of the stairway they stood not too far away from. When he stopped to look at them, catching his breath, his eyes looked back and forth between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Late? What are you late for?" Jon asked, wondering why she was meeting Samwell down here. Alone.

Sam, confused as ever, hitched a brow. "Aza wanted the three of us to meet in the library." Turning to look at Aza, she gave Samwell a nod to meant that all he said was true. "She said it was very important." Nobody had told him of that and he was left confused as to why he didn't receive the message. "Olly was supposed to tell you, but I suppose he got himself caught up in other matters."

Aza didn't look at him once as she spoke. "Let's go, we just might be in here all night." She led the way, leaving him wondering what she was going to say before. His mind was getting muddled just from trying to understand her, and it was leaving him frustrated.

"I think I've interrupted something." Samwell repeated much more quietly, mostly to himself. He leaned forward some, a playful smile on his face after letting his worry etch itself away. "Did you two get into a lovers' quarrel?" he teased, ignorant of the severity of the conversation he had abruptly ended with his arrival.

Jon cut his eyes to look at his best friend, hating that the word lovers had been used out of all the timing in the world. "Shut up, Sam." Hurt and annoyed, he made his way to the library, roughly opening the door, but still bothering to keep it open for Samwell. Even in his anger, he couldn't be completely rude to Sam. It wasn't even fair to take out his frustration on him when Sam had nothing at all to do with it.

"Don't take it out on me!" Tarly shouted after him, hurrying his steps once he saw the door was being held open for him. Sam took the precaution of closing the door while Jon took a seat opposite of Aza at one of the desks. "You said we'll be here all night, why? Is there something you want to find?" It sounded like he was being awarded a treat because Samwell just about knew this library as much as the Maester did. He was always in it, reading hours on end, and he even slept in here like it was his own room. Half the time Jon hoped his friend would love the library less since it has become a personal meeting place.

"While I was sleeping," Aza begun her explanation, leaning back on the chair with her arms folded, "I had a dream that I met a woods witch."

"A woods witch?" Samwell repeated, "Why would you be meeting a woods witch? Sounds like a nightmare to me." Anything could sound like a nightmare to him, Jon found himself thinking.

Aza snorted and shrugged, "I guess you could call it that, but she wasn't so cruel. She told me some things about the days to come and said the gods wanted her to do it."

"Why would the gods want you to have your fortune told by a woods witch?" Jon asked, none of it making much sense to him. He highly doubted the Seven would want a person of their faith, even one who isn't so devout like Aza, to meet a witch for anything. It sounded like a bizarre dream that the milk of the poppy gave her as side effect, but if he said that she would be infuriated.

"I don't know and she never told me who these gods were." Furrowing her brows, she looked down at the wooden surface of the table in thought. She truly believed it and Jon didn't know if he should be worried about that or not. "It doesn't matter really, she told me lots of things and I'm confused about them and so I want you both to help me."

"What is it you want to look for?" excited about this task, Samwell sat up just a little more straighter, "I might've already skimmed across it before."

Aza smiled slightly at his enthusiasm. He was the only one set on believing her and that made him feel somewhat guilty. "I want you, Sam, to look for the beginnings of the Night's Watch and finds me lots of passages about the night that never ends."

"You mean the Long Night?" Sam and Jon said in unison. Both of them quickly looked at one another, a bit surprised that the both of them were taken aback by the topic of research.

"Is that another name for it? It doesn't matter, just bloody look for it, alright?" It was obvious she was growing antsy, and he doubted it had everything to do about the night. Whenever Aza didn't understand something, she got frustrated. Jon knew her well enough to notice that. Samwell had left his feet, shuffling towards one of the shelves since he seemed to know which place to look more than Jon ever could know.

Rolling her eyes, she barely looked Jon in the eye as she spoke or rather mumbled, "I want you to find anything you can about a Prince Who was Promised"

Jon couldn't recall ever hearing of something like that before despite how familiar it had sound to him. "And what will _you_ do?" he stubbornly asked, half worried and half curious.

"I'm gonna keep my ass to my seat so you won't start naggin' about me standing on my feet for hours." Sucking her teeth, her eyes fell halfway closed as she took a gander at him. "I do listen to you… sometimes."

Even after how that previous conversation between them had left him stranded on how they felt for one another, she still was able to make him smile without much effort.

* * *

 **A/N** : It's pretty much a filler chapter, which is needed to give a necessary break from all that happened in the last one, but important things happened here. Aza's path is getting set in stone, some big hints everywhere, and Aza has met Melisandre. She hasn't met Stannis, Selyse, Davos or Shireen just yet, but she will because the next chapter begins at Season 5. Next chapter will focus on all of that, allowing me to skip some of her healing process because realistically it would take a while, and the recovery process for Castle Black. Plus the election is happening next chapter too because it'll probably be a long one. You know, it still kind of amazes me still that Jon was nineteen when he was elected.

Guest #1: I'm glad you loved it! c:

nerdylittlesecret: I'm happy it was everything you wanted. That chapter was pretty chaotic for me, but it paid off.

lilnightmare17: You're starting to know little by little.

kate langdon: Tormund and Aza was so fun to write, even though I know that battle was quite short but look at Tormund... there's just no way she could beat him fairly. She wouldn't even want to either. Ohh, I'm glad because I couldn't decide if I was going to let Aza be the one to kill her or not. I don't think Jon could do it since he still doesn't believe in outwardly killing wome either. c: Thank you so much, and haha. It's a slow process because I just really, really like Jon's emotions more? I don't know. He's shy and he's new to romance and I'm trying balance on the opposite of what his relationship with Ygritte was. He lusted her and then he loved here where Aza is the opposite, which makes his lust tie in with his romance. Also, I love him ruminating on feelings and how affectionate he is.

Iceflower: As you can see, she's still stubborn but she has her reasons. I feel like you might hate me for when she finally says it.

Nanouchy: Only because fighting scenes are fun to write.

Alice Williams: Since I'm always afraid I'm going to give things away, I can promise you she will not be stabbed. I think I've cleared the pregnancy scare now. Lol.

minstorai: Technically, she did? She did think that she could fall in love with anyone if they treated her the way Jon has. It just makes more since she's more fluid that way since the South is, she was young and Dorne doesn't hold that kind of restriction on love and Hadrian would've surely taught about that. Not just that, the Summer Isles was really free about sex, so I doubt they had restrictions there too. I don't think she really understands that one way is the right way. I'm screaming! Show her titties to Sam because Jon would've been more than upset. I can totally see her laughing at how angry he would be too and probably liking that he's the one jealous when she was green with envy around Ygritte most of the time. Sam is gonna get his because Aza will definitely be snooping around about him and Gilly. I was so close to writing that, but I know Jon knows better than show that much emotion in front Alliser and the other sworn brothers. lmao.  
It sucks though because he's starting to notice that, that just knowing that isn't enough. Since Jon hasn't outwardly told that he means much to anyone aside from Arya and a few times from Ned, he's going to start to crave it from her. There's but so much physical affection can do when Jon Snow was always put on the backseat nearly all his life. He's never the one people flaunt and show much appreciation towards ( aside from his main friends and then it just falls apart and is up to Sam and then Sam leaves ). I love when I can get a person spot-on to the point other people can envision it. I want to say that all those puppies are Bernese Mountain Dogs because they have his exact temperament. I really was going to have Sam and Aza tease Jon about that, but the tone of this chapter was far too serious for me to add that. I'm definitely going to sneak that in... somehow. Someway.  
It's funny because I debated on whether or not Aza was going to be atop of the Wall with Jon and the others at first, but she would complain how boring it was and Edd's all, "People are dying, Aza." She's definitely better suited on front lines person and I can't see her any other way. I love writing her fight, it's my favorite part of any chapter, especially Craster. I rarely to get use fist fights and I can't believe I mirrored Jon beating Ramsay to Aza beating Craster now that I think about it. Bastard bowl was the best fight scene after Hardhome. There's definitely going to be more Ghost and Aza bonding, but Alliser's blocking that with him being adamant the wolves stayed locked up. If only Aza was better in this chapter to confront Janos. Thank you, I kept it real simple because I don't think overly decorated suits the theme. Oh yeah, they definitely gave up on Dorne. They decimated Dorne, but I will say that they did well with the Martells casting, but not their storyline.

PorcelainPuppetLady: I'm glad you loved this chapter, but it wasn't my intention to make you cry!

Katie: I'm gonna miss writing him, and I just love to take everything she loves away from her ccccc: You never really know when that'll happen. I will never tell.

Guest #2: I literally have FCs for their children, know their names, and what features they have because I'm a sucker for that kind of thing. The woods witch did say she'll have a dream. c: So watch out for that.


	14. Chapter 13: The 998th Lord Commander

**AZA**

"Again!"

Training wasn't her strong suit. Jon and Rowan were much better at this than she was, especially since she couldn't pinpoint the right time when praise should be inserted. She criticized him more than she gave compliment, she didn't even speak of the minor improvements that he made either. It made sense why he always looked at her unsure if what he did was right or wrong or how disappointed he would become as she casually paid no heed to his small victories. It hadn't mattered because she knew praise might spoil him. The boy needed to be hardened for this life now that he has picked up on swordsmanship. Frustration had pushed him and made him better. The more frustrated he got by her criticism, the more thought and power he put into his training.

As she deduced, the Falchions suited Rickon and she decided to have him be a dual wielder. He was not made for two-handed or one-handed weapons. His left arm would flail about, being useless when it was perfectly suited for another weapon. Rickon was unknowingly ambidextrous and she wasn't going to allow such a talent to go to waste. So she worked his left and right arm at the same time, teaching him how to move them as one. She hoped that his training would ease him of some of the resentment buried deep in him because sometimes it showed itself in random, uncontrollable bursts. He had every right to still be in his growing phase with his emotions all over the place, but the least she could do was teach him not to let his emotions rule him like they unfortunately rule her.

"That's some vigorous training." Not having heard that voice before, she look to her left rather pensively. A balding, white-haired man with a salt-and-pepper colored beard walked a few steps to stand next to her with his hands behind his back. Rickon slowed down mid-swing, eyes swinging like a pendulum as he wondered if his training had come to a sudden end.

"I didn't tell you to stop," she informed the young Stark, who nodded and returned to practicing. "If you think this is vigorous then you would have not lasted a single day here, ser."

The man smiled as the low sound in his throat let her know he found humor in her words. "I meant vigorous for the boy. I may not be a man that can handle steel, but I know sloppy as well as good form when I see it."

Good form? Well, perhaps, in a very slight way. Rickon mastered keeping his feet firmly planted, but he hadn't mastered the finesse of forming a strike, swing or thrust that his older brother loved so much. Jon was a graceful fighter and paid attention to form because his style of fighting consisted of perfecting even the littlest things to keep himself alive. "If you don't mind me asking…" Tilting her head to the side, she bowed her brows. "Who are you? Did you arrive here with Lord Stannis?"

The man's eyes nearly bulged out their sockets at her usage of lord, which confirmed her suspicion of him being apart of the Baratheon party. "Lord? He is no lord. Stannis Baratheon is the one true king and you will address him so."

"I will address him as I like," said Aza, feeling rather haughty, "because we don't have a king in the Night's Watch. We do not even interfere in your politics, your wars, and whatever it is you kings and queens can bother to come up with to fill idle time. We protect the realm, but we do not act so temerarious to kneel a man without a throne." Aza wanted to speak much more derisively, seeing as it was the king's fault that the red witch was here. She hadn't bothered to confront her again, but sometimes Aza could feel the woman's eyes watching her.

"That all may be true," the man said before clearing his throat, obviously put off by her blunt truth, "but while he is here, you will address him accordingly."

Rolling her eyes, Aza fixed them to focus back on Rickon. She signaled for him to shift to vertical swings after finding his horizontal ones passable for the time. He eased right into it better than before, which made her smile despite her feeling vexed over the conversation at hand. "He still isn't my king, and I shall address him for what he is and that is the Lord of Dragonstone. He has no throne, so why should I call him a king? The one true king is what _you_ claim, but he was bested by a pompous, boy king and his uncle who burnt all his ships in Blackwater Bay."

"He had dozens upon dozens of men turn against him in favor for his younger brother who holds no greater claim than he did. I also he heard he killed this very same brother—now there is only one Baratheon—so he is also a king _and_ kinslayer as well as destroyer of the dynasty of House Baratheon. To top it all off, he burns people as sacrifice to a god that he has never even met because this Red Woman tells him to. We've heard many tales of Lord Baratheon here. Tell me, ser, if any of what I said are just wildly unjust rumors?"

By the time she cut her eyes to look at the man to her left, his face was completely red and fury was swirling his eyes. He was quite angry, of that she was sure, but he also looked as if he had nothing in mind to rectify her claims. So all of these rumors were true then? Not even a man as loyal as this one could even so much as to lie that his king had not done this much? He wasn't blind, she could compliment him for that, but he was too faithful to a man unworthy of it.

"Because I don't want trouble," Aza fixed herself to say, "and that's a rare thing since I _always_ find myself in it… I will address him accordingly. He is Your Grace and the King, I will be more mindful of such titles."

"Do you despise him?" The man finally asked, breaking out of his heated stupor. "Do you despise him because of all these rumors you've heard?"

Stannis Baratheon meant absolutely nothing to her. She didn't know him and didn't care to, she just didn't like his presence here. It made her feel uneasy and she hates when she feels uneasy; nothing good ever comes out of feeling uneasy.

Aza shrugged her shoulders before replying, "I don't despise him because I don't know him myself, but he doesn't sound like a man you want to cross. He sounds more of a bloody tyrant than he does a king."

"The Stannis I know is a good man, and I hope you can try to see that for yourself before you judge him so harshly. He has made plenty mistakes as I'm sure you have. That's why you're here in Castle Black."

She snorted, smirking some since the man had threw a rather valid, undeniable point back at her face. "I'm heavily aware that good people can make grave mistakes." The right corner of her mouth lifted, granting him her usual smirk. "But is a person still good for killing their family for a throne? Is a throne worth losing kin for? Is a throne worth slaying your own little brother?"

He had gone quiet again, almost like he had nothing to say or more like he controlled himself to not say what he wished to in that particular moment. So, as always when people feel cornered, he steered the conversation elsewhere. "What is your name, boy?"

"Aza," she replied swiftly, "and yours?"

"Davos," he answered in kind. "Davos Seaworth."

"What is your relation to King Stannis?" Mindful as she promised, Aza asked him without so much as starting an argument.

"His knight and his bannerman; Lord of newly House Seaworth."

"Ah, so, Ser Davos or Lord Davos?" Davos gave her a look that seemed to say he didn't mind either or. "Well, _Ser_ Davos, if your good king keeps his hands away from what I deem precious than I'll shall gladly rethink my opinions of him. If not, well, I suppose the next time we meet, you'll be hanging me or lopping off this head of mine clean off my shoulders for killing the one true _king_."

He scoffed. "And what is that you hold so much love for that my king would dare wish to take?"

Aza merely smiled, saying nothing because saying his name would be wrong of her. "Lift up your arm more and keep your body centered when you try that swing again, Asher." She instructed, catching a glimpse of the utter confusion on the man's face just from the corner of her eyes. It was amusing to see him trying to figure out what Stannis Baratheon could possibly want that Aza would fight so viciously for.

 **JON**

"We can't let Ser Alliser become the Lord Commander," Sam was practically begging, eyes holding hope of what Jon felt to be the inevitable. What could he do about it? It was a vote. If the majority voted for Thorne then he would become the Lord Commander and there was nothing he nor anyone else could do or say about it. Still, even Jon knew that life would be worse if not down in the ditches if Alliser Thorne commanded the Night's Watch. Everyone would be miserable, but despite their misery, Ser Alliser did have the qualities to lead along with the experience. All he lacked was empathy and presentation.

"And what do you suggest I do about it?" Jon questioned, wondering what Samwell had in mind. It surprised Jon more that Sam didn't go running to Aza, scheming about how to make the vote go in their favor. Aza wasn't above doing dirty work, but Jon would rather her do that than slit Thorne's throat in the dead of the night just to stop him from being Lord Commander. He knew her well enough to know she would rather die than be led around by Thorne. All Jon's focus should be was stopping her from doing just that. With a sigh, he began to massage his right temple. The election that hasn't even started and he was feeling stressed about it already.

"You always know the right thing to do…" But this was different and Sam very well knew that. This was something Jon had no particular hand in, not even as the former steward of the last Lord Commander. Jon wished the Old Bear still lived, twice as much as he did before now that they were facing Thorne taking his place. Perhaps Rykker would've been a stronger option too, but he was dead as well. This past year was nothing but losses for the Night's Watch. "But I understand."

"You're worried about Gilly," Jon saw Sam's expression change, a slight smile playing about his face because he had been caught. "Thorne will kick her out once he gets the opportunity and she has no place to go." She could, however, leave with the villagers. They would soon leave Castle Black and start repairing their homes now that the Wildlings were defeated. She could make a life there, but that would mean she and Sam would never see each other again unless it was Mole's town. Even so, Thorne was never a fan of the men going there for the brothels and he might be much more strict about that if in power.

"Aren't you worried about Aza?" Jon rose a curious brow, wondering what he had meant by that. "He and Thorne never got along and once Thorne is Lord Commander, he can punish Aza whenever he wants and however he sees it fit. He could found out…" Samwell looked around, fishing to find any eyes and ears. "He could find out that Aza isn't a… _you know._ "

He hadn't thought of that. Jon had thought her disguise could last her for years to come, but that was wishful thinking. She had gotten away with it for two years… Feeling his head ache from the sudden stress, Jon began to massage both temples at once. "I didn't think of that…" he mumbled, feeling stupid that none of that crossed his mind.

"We have to do something," Samwell urged. " _You_ have to do something." The pressure that Samwell was placing on him was starting to take weight on his shoulders. A good part of him wanted things to naturally play out because what if too many of their brothers were already thinking of Alliser's daily scorn and would not vote for him? If he and Samwell plotted something and it wasn't well worth it then it would be a waste of time. If they didn't do anything and Alliser was named Lord Commander then everything could go south.

"What are you two ladies whisperin' about?" Both of them quickly turned their heads to see Rowan, whose smile faltered when he took note of their serious expressions. "Don't tell me you two are up to somethin'?" Jon looked back at Sam for a silent debate if they should involve him or speak to him about their worries about the new Lord Commander. Samwell merely shrugged his shoulders, throwing the decision right back at Jon as he always did.

"Rowan, do you know who most of our brothers are voting for?" Jon asked.

Rowan didn't look all too surprised by the question. "The election hasn't started yet," he sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the corridor wall, "but I hear most of the men are stuck on who to vote for." That didn't help at all and neither did it calm them. "A few, however, did say they might vote for Ser Denys Mallister since most of 'em don't want Thorne." Samwell let out a breath of relief and Jon wasn't sure why. Rowan had said a few, not most or even some; few was too less to start feeling at ease. "Why? Prayin' for it not to be Thorne yourselves?"

" _Anyone_ is better than Thorne…" Samwell muttered, playing with his hands with his eyes looking down.

"You're only sayin' that because of the Wildling girl." Jon couldn't help but smirk at the sudden tint of pink that was coloring Sam's face. "I can't imagine how grim things will be if Thorne is our Lord Commander." Rowan knew there would be discord as well and Jon hoped Rowan was also pursuing to prevent it.

"Who are you two votin' for then?" Jon had no idea. Mallister was made to command the Shadow Tower for twenty years and was of level head. He could be a good Lord Commander, not better than Mormont, but good enough.

"It's either Cotter, Mallister or Thorne," Sam listed the names, only sounding sure when it came to Mallister than the other two. "Someone did mention that Janos Slynt might put himself in the running."

"That coward?" Rowan shook his head, sucking his teeth in disbelief. "I heard he was all cuddled up to a corner with the whores and little Asher when the Wildlings came. If he can't handle the Wildlings then how can he command the Night's Watch?" Janos was also quick to judge and willing to threaten anyone who didn't side with him. Jon would rather have Thorne than Slynt any day. "I say not to worry until the election." Rowan pushed himself from off the wall and walking down to meet them before clapping Sam's shoulder. "Good to see you grow some stones for your little lady friend." His snicker echoed as Samwell shyly smiled and watched him leave.

"Rowan is a good lad," he commented before looking at Jon, "and I hope the rumors are true. I hope enough of us don't want Thorne and he loses."

"Does that mean you're giving up on scheming?" Jon rested his hand on Longclaw, catching a glimpse of Samwell wrinkling his nose in defeat.

"For right now, yes." Jon couldn't help but smile at how easily his friend's mind could change. Samwell was usually optimistic while Jon had been the opposite, and to see Sam happy in full swing again had given Jon some hope. He had hope that something good would come out of this election and that there was no reason to worry if Aza's secret was threatened to be exposed. Sam's smile had died though, rather quickly. Once he looked right, Jon mirrored him.

Following Sam's eyes, Jon's smile was gone too. Standing patiently in the middle of the hall with a smile was Melisandre with her fingers intertwined. "The king wants a word," she said, eyes solely looking at him. He had no idea what Stannis could want from him and he found himself none too eager to find out.

Not wanting to waste any time, Jon gave Samwell a nod goodbye and followed the priestess who began to lead the way without question. He could feel Samwell's eyes staring at his back, watching him until he was made to go outside and out of his sight. The woman led him to the lift, meaning that Stannis must've been atop of the Wall, gazing out. He also might not have wanted anyone to hear what he had to say and that's why he chose such a location.

Climbing inside the elevator and being in a small trapped space with Melisandre made him uncomfortable. He watched her, shifting his weight to his right foot as he leaned away from her. She did not wear any fur or more layer of clothing. Her face nor her nose wasn't flushed pink either. The winds weren't as harsh as they could be, but the temperature was low and it snowed. She should've wore something heavier and her lack of shiver left him leery.

"You're not cold, My Lady?" Jon finally asked.

"Never." She sounded so sure, confident actually. "The Lord's fire lives within me, Jon Snow." He nearly flinched when she grabbed his wrist, slipping off the leather glove and brought his bare hand towards her face. "Feel." Shocked and confused, he could feel how strangely warm her skin was from the back of his fingers. She was not cold. What she said was true, but Jon did not believe that some god was keeping her this warm.

He quickly took his hand away, placing his glove back on in a hurry. The woman didn't have to prove a point, she just must've grew tired when people didn't believe her. Whatever her reasoning, it still left him slightly fraught.

"Are you a virgin?" The question came from thin air and he kept his eyes away from her, wanting to stare down at Castle Black than to look at her. He wanted to ask why did she want to know or why did she care. His pride, however, wouldn't give her that much.

"No." His answer was finally said after some awkward silence. He briefly thought of Aza, his lips daring to smile to which he forced himself not to. Now that he thought about it, she would probably be upset if he told her anything about this. As much as he tells her everything, he knew it would dangerous to tell her of the witch's question or her boldness to touch him. The last thing he needed was Aza's sword aiming steady to impale the Priestess' chest.

"Good."

 **AZA**

Slowly, ever so slowly, Aza's slid a bowl on over towards Edd. The corner of her lips were curving upward to make her infamous smirk as she waited and waited for Edd to figure out what she had done. By the time he looked down, he noticed that all the apples had been eaten out of his apple stewed with prunes. His shock quickly morphed into anger then he shot his head up to look at her as she burst out into a fit of laughter. "Dammit, Aza! You know I don't like the prunes!" She didn't like them either and she was still hungry after she ate all the apples out of hers.

"You should eat them, I hear they are good for the body." Aza tried her best not to laugh again as he looked at her so deadpanned. Her eyes were tearing up and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep it all in and it had been for naught. It felt good to laugh and it felt even better to want to laugh. Jon Snow has kept all her laughs and smiles, but now it was time to show them again to the brothers she likes. Even if her rib still aches because it hasn't fully healed, she wanted to be happy, just for a little while.

Rowan, good at heart as per usual, had slid Edd his bowl. "Here, eat mine. I don't like neither." He kept his black sausages and boiled eggs because those were what he liked out the meal. Aza thanked the Seven that she didn't sleep in the barracks because after they ate some of the eggs, they would breakwind all through the night and it would smell so foul throughout. "You and I need to talk," Rowan then said, eyes leveling with hers to show he was serious. Aza knew this day would come when they would have to talk about what has now become of the rangers.

They didn't have a Lord Commander nor a First Ranger. It was up to them, really, to lead themselves until an election took place and it was decided who would lead them. All the other rangers that survived the battle had been lacking in both training and spirit as Rykker's death had left a very large, gaping space in their once full unit. Some rangers had died as well, and so that hole was stretched with their lives, too. Rowan tried his best to take Rykker's place, but even he found himself at a loss on what to do half the time because none of them had been properly prepared for his death.

"Not now, Rowan." Aza didn't want to think of Rykker and how much she missed him. How she blamed herself that he died because she had been so weak, tired, and useless. Sometimes she would hear him scream in the middle of the night, making her curl up in a ball with her hands pressed to ears. Everyone kept asking her what happened that night and she would never speak of it. She kept quiet and everyone knew that it still hurt her deeply to tell.

She didn't tell Jon because he did not pry. He held her, kissed her forehead until she felt at peace again, and let herself melt in his arms. It left her wondering if that was the peace he felt back when he had terrible dreams of Winterfell. Did he sink anyway into a place that blocked all the horrors that came and went as they pleased? The woods witch had said she would have a dream that would come true in the Spring, but what if it was not a good dream? Nightmares are dreams, too.

"We can't keep ignoring this," Rowan pursued the conversation she didn't want to have. Aza purposely kept her eyes looking away, not wanting him to see how she was still shaken over Rykker death. She didn't want him to see that she had no hopes that the rangers could ever be how they once were. "I need you. The rangers need you."

 _"You and Jon Snow are the future of the Night's Watch."_

It has been so long since she thought of Mormont and those words he once had said to her. Aza felt the adrenaline in her blood again, quickening as she felt the sudden urge to take responsibilities she didn't want just like the first time it was said. She didn't want it before, she resigned to it halfway, and then forgot all about it. It was as if Mormont said a curse and it was coming true to life when she thought it to be gone.

"Everyone keeps looking at me, wondering why you're not at our meetings or training. You're a ranger, Aza, and that hasn't changed because Mormont is dead. It also hasn't changed because Rykker is, too." Curling her hands into tight fists, Aza felt her shoulders curve with guilt. She was being selfish and it was wrong, and she knew it. It still never occurred to her that she should stop herself from being that way.

"The Lord Commander will select who will be our First Ranger," Aza said, finally having the courage to let Rowan look her in the eye. "But for now, I'll schedule our rounds and you keep on with training our brothers." He soon smiled and Aza felt herself mirroring him. "Where's Dareon? I want to hear him sing." Dareon sings so beautifully and always at dinner to entertain them. His singing always brought her back to King's Landing where the bards would always sing in the alehouses, whisking her into a state of calm as she drank tankard after tankard of some sweet amber wines from the Isles.

"Probably spyin' on the whores or on top of one," Edd answered her while he ate. "Most of the men aren't happy they're leaving so soon."

Aza snorted, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Rowan sighed too, hand over his heart. "I'll weep the day they leave as well." Chuckling, she looked to Edd, who shook his head in disapproval. "Soon your woman will have to go too, Aza."

Her smile instantly left her face, eyes slightly narrowing. "Osha isn't my woman. I'm tired of sayin' it, so don't make me say it again, yeah?"

"Then why get so angry about it?" Rowan teased. "You're not the only one with a Wildling lover."

"I'm not the only one because I ain't one." With a huff, Aza looked away from him to stare absently at a random spot on the wall. It made her seem guilty to get all defensive, but her mind was most certainly elsewhere. She was wondering why Jon didn't come to sup and neither had Samwell, but Sam's absence made sense. He was usually always with the Maester or sneaking some time with Gilly and her baby. Jon, however, should be free at this time and yet he wasn't here. Wrinkling her nose, she mentally shook away her curiosity of his absence. She had seen him nearly every day and so there was no use in worrying, but the nagging feeling of the Red Witch being part of the reason kept tugging the far parts of her mind.

Aza promised herself not to let Melisandre stay in her mind because she wasn't going to let the woman have a permanent residence there. In efforts to shake her off, Aza placed her hands on the flat surface of the table to push herself up to stand to leave. "I was only teasing," Rowan quickly said, actually worried that she was genuinely angry. "Aza, c'mon! Don't leave!"

"I'm not leavin' 'cause of you, stupid." Adjusting her cloak, she looked at him from the corner of her eyes. "I wanna take a walk is all," she said while lifting her legs from out of the other side of the bench.

"If he wants to take a walk then he's got trouble on his mind," Edd commented, still chewing the apple slices from Rowan's bowl.

Aza furrowed her brows, wondering what Edd meant by it. Did he know that she was wary of Jon and the Red Witch or was he assuming she was up to something? Something no good either. Aza didn't bother to ask or further think on it and just made her leave, completely walking out of the common hall.

Autumn air was certainly getting less and less kind, and the nights were nothing but cruel. Extra blankets were given but they were still too thin to keep a person from shivering all through the night. They needed to hunt more and get some bear hide, but too many of the men left now couldn't even pretend to think of killing a bear. A good majority of their best men died by Wildling hands, and that made the future days look a little bleak to most.

The first thing to come to mind now was Tormund. She hasn't seen him at all since he was held prisoner, and she was much too afraid to meet him. The stupidest depths of her mind would want to free him and while another part of her was still so angry that he gave her up to Ygritte. She had no inkling as to figure out why he did that and she wanted to ask him. It would be too much trouble, however, if Ser Alliser caught wind that she went to visit him. He'll make things much more difficult for them both, and Tormund hadn't deserved it with all he lost. No matter how she felt about him—angry or otherwise—she understood his heart; where it was and where it needed to be at the time. She would not condemn him for it.

If only she could see him, just once. All she wanted to do was look at him and see if he was being treated well because she can't believe other people when they say he's fine. The last she heard of Tormund's well-being was from the Maester, who said his wounds were healing nicely and his appetite is a _"force to be reckon with"_. Aemon wouldn't lie and Jon seemed to think of Tormund to be well himself. Still, wounds aren't always physical and she wondered how he was feeling most of all. "And why should I care about his feelings? He fucking gave me a scar across my belly… Fucking bastard." Aza mumbled out loud, feeling frustrated every time she sees that scar whenever she changes her clothes.

Her ear twitched upon the sound of footsteps coming from behind her. She had noticed too late to decipher who it was, but when she felt a hand on her shoulder, all the tension in her bones calmed. "Where have you been?" she asked, turning to face Jon, who smiled very minimally.

"The King wanted to speak to me." Aza frowned at his usage of such a title, but she knew better than to think Jon would disrespect Stannis. "And I have to make my way to see Mance."

"Why?" It was odd for Jon to want to go see Mance Rayder, especially after having coming from seeing Stannis. He looked unsure but mostly troubled. Whatever it was on his mind, she felt stressed before he explained.

"I can't tell you here." Jon's eyes looked around, searching to see if they were being watched. "And I don't have much time."

Her frown deepened and her anxiety escalated. "I would say let me go with you but it would look suspicious." Jon nodded, agreeing with her, which further proved that the matter was as serious as she thought it to be. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like what's going on."

"You won't." She hated that he just proved her gut feeling so quickly. It took everything in her not to sigh because she's so tired of doing it. Everything was worth sighing about these days. "But I'll tell you about it when I can." Her smile was a weak one as she nodded quietly, accepting how the situation was. He raised his hand, almost daring to cup her face but placed it atop of her head, like he was going to muss her hair. Aza sucked her teeth, catching him smile faintly.

Knowing that affection had to be not a cut above friendly or brotherly in the open, Aza squeezed her eyes as he tousled her hair that was growing too long for her liking again. It was long enough to put in a small ponytail, which she had been sporting for quite some time. She wanted to cut the new growth of hair, but Castle Black was just starting to get back on its feet again and people couldn't worry about appearances. Sooner or later, when things were as normal as they could be, she would have it cut.

"The library?" Aza asked once Jon walked a few paces to leave.

"The library," Jon answered her without looking back at least once. With a groan, she stomped her feet, feeling cheated due to the lack of time they spent together as of late. It was silly to throw a tantrum and she felt shame once she realized her infantile actions.

Aza decided to wait for him in the library before Thorne caught sight of her and gave her something unnecessary to do. He hated seeing idle people or just anyone enjoying themselves from having finished with their duties for the day. She almost had Wall duty today, but because Satin got Thorne's breeches all rustled, he had taken her shift and he forced her to "thank" him for being relieved of such a duty. She never been so annoyed to thank someone, even if she did feel happy she wouldn't be freezing all night.

She felt somewhat sorry for Satin, who looked rather miserable upon the switch. He was so skinny and she worried the wind might push him off the Wall or carry him away. Just the thought of that made her snicker, pressing her hand to her mouth as she imagined it. It kept her entertained all throughout her way to the subterranean passages and to the library door. When she pushed the door open, she hadn't expected to see Samwell with his head buried in a book.

He looked up and smiled at her, not looking at all annoyed that his reading had been perturbed. "What brings you here, Aza?" he asked, looking nothing but curious. "Oh, after I finished reading this, I wanted to tell you some things I found."

It has been sometime since she made Jon and Samwell find passages of the Long Night and the Prince that was Promised. _"The oldest histories we have were written after the Andals came to Westeros. The First Men only left us runes on rocks, so everything we know about the Age of Heroes and the Dawn Age and the Long Night comes from accounts set down by septons thousands of years later. There are archmaesters at the Citadel who question all of it."_ Was what Samwell had said, concluding that whatever it was that the woods witch was telling her about would not be found in Castle Black.

"What is it?" She took a seat, shifting her body to a slant that made the chair creak as she crossed her arms.

"Well," he began, clearing his throat before he probably gave a long-winded explanation that would lull her to sleep. "There's a book that Maester Aemon gave me that states the Others were defeated and the Wall was built six thousand years ago…" Unsure what that had to do with what she had asked, Aza tilted her head in confusion. "…But this book, right here and mostly in Valyrian, gives reason to believe it was a couple of years before that."

"So? What does that have to do with anything?" Aza then uncrossed her arms and reached out for the book. "Give it here, I can read Valyrian." Surprised by this, he slowly slid the book towards her as she stared at the foreign words she hadn't seen in years. All her lessons weren't for this, she can't help but sourly think. How would her uncle feel when he knows her Valyrian skills won't be used for a master, but to save the world? He would fill a chamberpot to the brim in his shock.

"What I am saying is that the years are important because perhaps it was meant to come again at a certain time. That's how prophecies work; "a hero will come during this day when this happens" or "the sky will do this for a while until that happens" at least that's how stories write it. You have to know when it'll happen or else you won't be prepared for it and everyone, well… everyone dies."

His point made sense now that he explained it and the text he somewhat read did prove that it wasn't merely six thousand years ago like the Maesters believe. She was no mathematician, she always hated math, but even she could guess they were wrong by a year or two according to the order of things. Not just that, Aza couldn't believe the septons to really know what they were talking about. When the Seven became such a large number in faith, they would breed others that either ignored or lack any knowledge of the old gods that were worshiped for so long.

"You think that somewhere in this book we can guess when the Others will come?" asked Aza, curious if that was what he was truly alluding to. "That somewhere it'll tell us the happenings of when the Long Night will come again?"

"I believe so." He nodded fervently, smiling as he did. Samwell's smile always had a rather good effect on her because he found reason to smile even when the situation was most dire. "We have no choice but to prepare for it. They're nothing to…" Samwell quieted, eyes glossing over with fear as he recounted the time spent North of the Wall. She read it was really called the Lands of Always Winter, which she felt described it perfectly. "They're nothing to ignore… If we are to fight them then we best prepare ourselves before Winter comes."

Winter is Coming.

The words of House Stark. She always felt it was strange that would be their words while other Houses had ones that dealt with personal tidings. Her people—people of the Summer Isles—didn't have their islands similar in that regard. They had independent princes and princesses, almost how Westeros used to be when they had seven independent kingdoms. Life was easier that way and that's why the Isles was more peaceful while kings died left and right here.

"The woods witch…" Samwell made her retract from her distracted thoughts. "Did she tell you anything else? That couldn't be all that she spoke to you about."

Aza smiled faintly, her fingers skimming down the Valyrian text as she thought of the one good thing the witch informed her of. "I asked her about my mother," she stated happily, grinning from ear to ear, "and she told me that my mother was alive and free. She's not a slave anymore, not anyone's property; she belongs to herself again."

"You don't really speak much about her." His voice took a much softer note, probably because he knew that such a subject was a sensitive one for her. "I don't really know anything about her… Not that you have to tell me or anything." Samwell quickly assured her. "I just… well, I'm curious is all. You know about my father and my mother, but I don't know anything about yours."

"I don't know my father," she corrected him, "but I was raised by my mother until I was ten before she was… sold"

"Eight years…" Samwell sighed. "You haven't seen your mother in eight years? No letters or anything…" He pitied her. Normally, Aza would slap him across the face and tell him not to look at her like that, but Samwell knew how hard it felt to be separated from a mother you loved. She envied the way he reads his mother's letters, smiling and looking freshly loved with renewed confidence. That was what mothers were supposed to do; they remind you that you are loved and let you believe you can do anything. Her mother, unfortunately, let her believe too much and that's why she was so jaded about most good things.

Controlling any sort of emotional out pour that was brewing, Aza purged herself from her hurt feelings with a sigh she wished she could swallow. "If she's free, she can live her life as she wants to."

"But you might never see her again." Samwell reminded her of the fact she knows all too well. The fact that comes and goes from her mind, especially when she's alone at night wondering where her mother had gone and how she was. Eight years… She thought of that nearly every night for eight years with her thumb pressing against the white smooth fang that she wears around her neck.

"I know," Aza practically whispered, having already accepted that harsh truth years ago. "But I'm content knowing she's free and alive."

It took her by surprise when she felt her hand taken by a much larger one. His grip was warm and firm, pouring with empathy. Aza looked at his hand with surprise before smiling at his kindness. "Oh…" Aza smirked, eyebrow raised. "Because you know I'm a girl now days, you want to comfort me, yeah?"

"Even if I still thought you were a boy, I would've done the same." That made her smile much brighter and hold his hand in the same favor. "What was she like? Your mother, I mean. She was a Summer Islander too, wasn't she?"

"Her name was Nahla," Aza said as she looked at Sam, who kept eye contact as if he was scared to break it. "And she was born in the Isles and lived there most of her life. She told me she wanted to leave the Isles and see the world, but went to Westeros and became a servant when she realized she couldn't afford to really see the world. She worked under some lord in the Riverlands and happened to meet my father during her time there."

"She was right in the middle of the rebellion," he said, making her brows furrow at that revelation. "The Riverlands had joined House Stark and House Arryn at that time or perhaps already." He started to nod, feeling sure about what he said. "Eighteen years ago means you were born just a few months after it ended."

She hadn't thought of that. The only things she remembered was the reason for it and the end of the Targaryen dynasty. She didn't know much and never bothered to since the rebellion wasn't close to home or was significant to someone born in the Isles. Part of her still held that resentment of all those of Old Valyria and had felt the Targaryens gotten what they deserved. Cruel, it was very cruel of her, but they had done plenty of cruel things, too. "Do you think my father could've been in the rebellion? He might've even died fighting in it…"

"Possibly," Samwell shrugged, unsure just as she was. There was just no way for either one of them to truly know.

All she could take from this information was that her father could've very well been a lord or a soldier. He could've fought for House Tully or any other Riverlords whose name she doesn't know. What was her mother doing falling in love with a man like that? If he was a lord then she was fool, but if he was a soldier then perhaps it wasn't fair to partially hate him for everything. He had a duty and he had done it and just happened to lose his life fulfilling it. She couldn't fault him for that, if it were true. Still, the idea that her father was some honorable soldier who died fighting so valiantly did excite her. As a child, she always wanted her father to be some man worth being proud of. She wanted to love a man that she had never known.

The silence that came between her and Samwell wasn't uncomfortable. He looked through another book, possibly researching about the Long Night again while she mindlessly tapped against the pages of the book he handed her to read. "But what I don't understand is…" She captured his attention again, making him look up from the book and at her. "What I don't understand is what the witch had meant about dragons and my mother."

"What do you mean?" She forgot to tell him that bit, leaving him utterly confused.

"She said the dragons have paid their dues to my mother and that she will be given all that she is owed by them." Reciting the witch's words, Aza couldn't piece together what that could possibly mean.

Tarly took an expression of thought before his eyes lit up, revealing he thought of something. "The Targaryens practically started the rebellion when Rhaegar Targaryen stole the Lady Lyanna from Harrenhal." Aza nodded, understanding that much. "And your mother must've lost your father in that rebellion and was forced to go back home." His expression shifted to a sad one, almost like he thought it would hurt her upon having further clues her father was dead. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good either. "When she became a slave, she must've went to one of the cities that rumors say Daenerys Targaryen is freeing slaves from. I don't know what exactly can be owed, but her freedom could be it, at least… that's what I think."

"Huh…" At a loss for words, Aza couldn't believe at how much that made sense. Could that really be it? It sounds right. It _could_ be right… It seemed strange when she hated Dragonlords for their love of slavery, and it ending up turning out that one had led her mother to slavery and another freed her. No matter how she felt, Dragonlords changed her whole life for the better and for the worse.

Samwell soon closed the book he was reading, seemingly done with it for now. "How has your rib been feeling? The Maester said that it takes long for ribs to heal, but he's curious of how you're holding since rangers tend to train more than anyone else."

How would Aemon feel upon hearing she used that injury as an excuse to avoid training with the rangers? Even Rowan could see she was well enough to return. She simply chose not to. "It hurts to breathe heavy, aches when I suck in some cold air," she admitted the honest truth, "but I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle."

"You really are strong…" He sounded so surprise despite how long he came to know her. "How can you handle things like that? I don't think I would've made it in your place."

"Says the one who killed a White Walker," Aza reminded him of one great achievement and that made him smile. "You're strong, Sam. Not all strong people are good fighters, you know? Strong people have their strengths in different ways; some in heart, some in mind, and even both. Physical strength doesn't always mean someone is strong where it counts. Besides," Aza wrinkled her nose as she smiled, "I'm just too damn stubborn to die, yeah?"

"For good reason. I can't imagine you ever choosing death while Jon is still alive." Her smile faltered as she shook her head, telling him he was wrong.

"I thought I was going to die out there…" She remembered, bleeding out with Shaggydog and Ghost protecting her while she laid there thinking that the Stranger was finally going to come for her. "I accepted it, too." Samwell was too shocked to speak, looking at her as if she wasn't herself. Was it really all that surprising? "It was Rykker that saved me, but I lost my will to live for a little while there. I thought it was fine if I died and I just wished Jon was there to hold me until there was no life in me left."

"Aza…" She said too much and now she doesn't look strong in Samwell's eyes anymore, or so she thinks. It hurts for people to see you vulnerable and she's told him too much. She didn't even tell Jon she was nearly willing to die because she's afraid of what he'll think of her for saying that. She's afraid he'll hate her for knowing she accepted leaving him without any sort of fight. It was just a moment of defeat, she surely would've snapped out of it on her own regardless of Jaremy's death.

"Don't tell Jon any of this." Aza lifted her eyes to look at him, expression becoming sterner so that he knows she fully means him not to speak of it. "I've told him nothing about that night."

His nod was weak and slow, but she believed him to keep his mouth shut. "You two seem different lately…" Samwell looked afraid to elaborated of what he had meant by that. "Did… Did something happen since the last time we were all here?"

 _He's so nosy_ , she thought. Still, she doesn't mind talking to Sam because he makes sense of things that seem so confusing to her. "Jon thinks he's in love with me."

"What? You two haven't said that you loved each other yet?" He's laughing and it makes her feel embarrassed, almost like he finds this issue entirely childish. When he realized she's not joking, his laughter comes to an abrupt end. "Don't you love him?"

She does love him. It just isn't that easy to say, at least to her it's not. She knew Jon was lying when he said someday because she can tell when he's lying all too well now. After spending nearly every day with someone for what will be three years, it was just that easy for them to figure out how each other felt with so much of a glance.

"You know that feeling when you're about to be happy and your heart begins to feel strange?" She found herself asking, staring at the table because she doesn't want him to see her feelings in her eyes. Jon once told her that her eyes were too expressive, that they reveal everything while her tongue was sly enough to say otherwise. He thinks he knows her so well now, and she hates that he actually does.

"I know the feeling," Like he has lived it a thousand times. Aza wanted to laugh at his reaction, but she couldn't bring herself to.

"Every time I feel that way, I end up hurting someone else or hurting myself." She's smiling although she isn't happy. She isn't happy that whenever she feels good about something, it ends up going horribly wrong. "If I tell him I love him then I'll lose him, tomorrow or in a fortnight. I can never keep what I love."

"That's the way of the world, isn't it? For as long as we live, we get more weight to carry on our shoulders." Samwell had said, trying to meet her despite the fight she gave. She finally looked at him, seeing his smiling face and all the hope he keeps in such a look. "It gets harder to do what you want and to keep it too, but all that means is that we need someone to be there with us to lessen the burdens. I worry about Jon too," he admitted, "but if there's one thing I know about him, it's that he always come back."

Aza laid her head on the desk, eyes closed. "You really do know everything or are you the mastermind on love because of Gilly?"

"W-What?" he stuttered and she knows very well that he's blushing right now. "I do love Gilly and her baby." Only Samwell could be so raw and honest about his emotions, even if he couldn't say it with a straight face the first time.

How could he say that so easily? It irks her that he's so much like steel when it comes to love while's she some sort of element that is a boiling mess and refuses to be forged. "You and Jon haven't even told her each you loved one another, but I'm sure you've done _other_ things."

Aza quickly lifted her head, wanting to see his face to understand what he was implying. "Other things? You mean fucking, yeah?"

And like a little boy of two-and-ten, Samwell began to snicker with his face a rosy hue. "But where? There's no place for privacy. The only place no one hardly goes to is…" Her knowing smirk makes his eyes go wide, and he looks around the library. "Oh… _Oh_ , it happened… here, didn't it? _In_ the library."

"The desks are pretty sturdy, yeah?" It would've been much funnier to her if they were sitting at the one Jon almost had taken her on, but they were too far in the back. "He missed the first time. The bloody idiot really didn't know where to put it."

Samwell had laughed, so loudly and heartily, that she swore it bounced off the walls of the library. She felt at ease again, knowing the days ahead were going to be tiring still, but it was good to feel a brief peace of mind.

 **JON**

When he came to meet her in the library, Jon didn't expect to find her asleep. Even laying her head against her arm, soft sounds escaping her barely parted lips, she's beautiful. He hasn't told her that and he regretted it, but he kept it to himself like she keeps her words of love. He doesn't know why she's so adamant on not saying it and denies him as if his feelings aren't real or exists. So he'll keep words to himself too, purely out of spite. If he hadn't been stressed about what would happen in the next hour or so, he would let her sleep. He would put his cloak atop of her and let her get some of the rest she's been missing. She deserves some peace and yet she won't have any when he tells her what will happen.

She had felt loss in many directions; Castle Black reeks of the people no longer here, like their ashes mingled into the atmosphere. You can smell them, taste them, and feel them all over the place. Sometimes Jon thought he saw Pyp run by with Grenn chasing after him, just to find out it was a mere memory that he's mistaken for reality. He thought he would catch Donal Noye smithing some axes or swords, but another has taken his place. Sometimes Rykker's voice still echoes in his head, shouting the orders that he gives the rangers for the day. So many friends and familiar faces were gone and he dealt with it better than he thought he would. He steeled himself to know people were going to die regardless if the Wildlings had won or not. He has an easier time accepting their deaths than the death of his own blood.

Shaking away bittersweet memories, he placed his hand on her shoulder, shaking her just a little so she wouldn't get too upset. Aza's never been good at waking up when she's supposed to, but she's even worse waking up when she doesn't have to. "Aza, wake up." She groaned, stomped one foot on the floor before turning her head as if it'll make him go away. "You have to wake up," he insisted, and now both her feet hit the floor much harder this time.

She sat herself up in a hurry, eyes squinting and lips in a slight pout. When she looked over at him, eyes glazed with sleep, he smiles at her obvious frustration. "Had me waitin' for you for two hours and now you show up just to wake me? Fuck you, Jon Snow."

"You have, or have you forgotten?" His words surprise her, making her eyes become big as pewter plates. She's fully awake now.

"Oh, that was a good one," Aza complimented him, almost as if she's proud he's gotten better at their back and forths. "I wouldn't mind a reminder, though. Just a quick one." Cheeky as ever, she knows how to get him speechless and red-faced in a matter of minutes. "But that's not what we're here for."

"No, it's not." He found his voice again, clearing his throat and reminding himself on what was more important. "If I had let you sleep, you would really hate me."

Aza hummed and nodded as she did, knowing that to be true. "You went to see Mance, yeah? You didn't get the chance to tell me what for. I just remember that," Aza paused, gritting her teeth, "that King Stannis is involved."

He was aware of her anger before she even felt it, so he grabbed both of her hands before she flew herself in a fit of rage. "Aza," he said her name softly, and he watched how she tensed from that alone. She knew, right away, that what he had to say wasn't something she'll like to hear. "They're going to burn him."

"Burn him?" she echoed, brows furrowed out of confusion. "Who is gonna be burned?"

"Mance." Her hands were starting to ball up into fists, he felt it since he couldn't bring himself to look away from her eyes. Confusion swept the surface of them first and then came the tide of anger just a second after. "He wouldn't kneel to Stannis, and so as punishment for all his crimes… He's to be burned alive."

And her anger is gone, surprisingly. He expected her to be ready to flip a desk over, to scream, and to curse Stannis' name to the heavens and threaten to kill him herself. Instead, she's completely still. She's not angry, she's shocked, and that's when he realizes that the way Mance will die was more or less the same as Jaremy. She did not heal from that yet. He made her think of it when he vowed to himself to help her move on from it. Her face was like a painting, unmoving and the emotions were there but drawn vacant. It was up to him to decide what was going on in her head and he didn't have a single clue.

"Why?" she asked, her voice so soft he thought he almost imagined her to be speaking. "Why did he want Mance to kneel?"

Her fists have loosened, still her fingers twitch as if they were debating if they should curl or not. "He wants the Free Folk to join his army. He'll pardon them, give them land to live on, but only if they fight for him. He wants them so he'll have enough men to take back the North; Winterfell."

Her shock melts away and her eyes are warm pools of empathy. It's rare to catch her feeling what she feels for his sake and when he sees it, his heart can't help but swell. Instead of him holding her hands to comfort her, she intertwines their fingers to comfort him. She's wondering, he can tell by the way she's looking at him, that if it would make him happy if Stannis takes back his family's home. It would make him happy. It would make him more than happy that a Stark is in Winterfell again, even if he can never see or make it happen himself. But who would it be? Rickon is so young, he can't lead the North. Sansa is missing, Arya is gone, and Bran? No, he won't think of these things. Not right now.

"He's a bullheaded fool," Aza spat vehemently, clenching her jaw so tight that she easily grinds her teeth. Jon had leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers because he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to thank her for easily knowing that a Stark in Winterfell again is one of the many things he wanted without having to ask. "He isn't thinking about his son at all." Her eyes fell close, right before he could catch a glimpse of gathering tears. She's been so easily ready to cry lately and he loathed it. For the past month, he's always bringing her the news to make her this way. "What did Dalla die for? She died for her son to be south and safe. I doubt she wanted the child to be raised by his aunt because his father was too stubborn to fucking kneel."

"If I had remembered his son, I could've convinced him better." Jon blamed himself, wondering if he mentioned the newborn child that was without a mother now would make Mance give in. There was a part of him that had reason to believe that speaking of the boy wouldn't have changed Mance's mind. He was going to die for his beliefs; scorched and screaming.

"I don't want to see," Aza muttered, her eyes squeezing shut. "I don't want to see him burn. I never want to see a man burn again."

He's at a loss for words because he doesn't know what there is to say to comfort her. Instead, he pulled her forward, giving her choice to sit atop of his lap and she practically clutched onto him once she's seated. She's only eight-and-ten, and she's afraid and tired. She's hurt and she's lost, and she can't sort her feelings out. She doesn't know how to not be angry and she doesn't know how to express her sadness because she deems it weak. It vexes him, how happy he is that she comes to him when she doesn't feel so strong. She let's him see her weakness, much more voluntarily than feeling like she had no choice. _He's her choice._ He always wanted to be someone's choice, most importantly their first. He was only someone's first choice once and that was when his father chose him over Lady Stark's pride by bringing him to Winterfell, raising and acknowledging him as his bastard.

"You have to promise me something, Jon." Aza emptied his mind of his current thoughts, head pressed against the side of his own. She sounds serious and her heart is racing, he can tell since his ear is so close to her bound breasts. "You can't die. Never. Even when you're old, you have to live just for me." Jon breathed out a chuckle, arms locking themselves around her to keep her so close that not even the thinnest piece of anything can come between them.

He would ask what brought this on, but he knows that death has been all around them as of late. She's afraid, afraid of losing more people. "I like you, Jon Snow." Infantile, soft, and sweet as it was said, it still has the force to make his heart nearly echo in his ears from how loud it was. "More than I should. More than what is considered to be wise." It's not the confession he really wants. She won't say love, but her words make him feel warm, happy, and loved still. It's close enough, close as he feels she's ever going to get without him pressuring her. She must've already felt pressured or hopefully found this to be of her own pace than at his. She's not going to say she loves him because he says it. She's not going to say she loves him because she knows he loves her. She's going to say it when she's ready because Aza doesn't conform herself to other's beliefs or fixes herself to do what other people want unless she's forced for a greater purpose.

Jon can't think of what greater purpose there could be for her to confess her raw feelings to him, at least not now of all times. "I promise." It was awful of him to promise her not to die. He can never keep that promise to her because no man or woman still breathing can keep such a promise. He's no god; not a bit immortal. He'll die, one day, and he can't stop it and neither can she. He only gives in because she needs to hear it and he finds himself susceptible, at the moment, to tell her what she needs to hear.

"I have to go." And he wished he didn't, especially when she holds him tighter for a few seconds more.

"Why do you have to see it?" she questioned, her hold on him still tight as he gazed over her shoulder.

Because Thorne will want him to be there. Most of their brothers will want him there, and watch his face to see if he's still a Wildling sympathizer or "lover of Wildlings" as he heard whispered about him. They want him to watch Mance burn with no remorse to cement he's one of them, and it would seem strange if neither of them were there to see it. "You know why," he settled for that, and her hold on him loosens and she lifts herself from off his lap.

"What am I to tell Val if I ever get the chance to see her again?" She's not truly asking him that, but wondering how such a conversation could possibly go.

"She'll understand. She knows the way of the Free Folk and will understand Mance's decision." Jon's sure of that and Aza's expression let's him know that she thinks it to be true as well.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Her hands held onto his sleeves by his biceps, ready to cling onto him again, but she thought better of it when she easily let's him go within a second. He's bereft to leave her, so much so when she looks so sad. She hasn't met Dalla's baby, doesn't even share his blood, but she cares for him already because he is Dalla's. She wants to protect him and she wants him to have his father since his mother was gone. She's inserting her feelings, placing her ownself onto that child, he knows she is, and he wants her to stop but the feelings are already there.

Again, he wondered, how would she be like as mother since her heart is so bare to children. Would she fix her face to this expression, riddled with worry over her child. Would she show the softness she only shows to him with a child with her eyes? He shouldn't be thinking of children. _"I shall father no children"_ he solemnly swore before the old gods, and he did not take the tempting offer of becoming a real man of the Free Folk. Children—bastards were what they would really be—have no right to be in his thoughts. Aza is a "man" of the Night's Watch too, she can't have a child. She can't have _his_ child.

Before he thinks of more silly fantasies, Jon walked out of the library without so much as looking back.

 **AZA**

"Excited?" Dareon had asked her as they stood in the common hall. Every sworn brother from every tower was gathering around, but she's biting down her thumb in efforts to not bite her nails. She's nervous, afraid, wondering why Stannis stole Jon after Mance's burning. He must've been angry and he sought to punish Jon for giving Mance mercy. She loved him for it, for giving Mance mercy from burning alive by piercing his heart with an arrow. If Stannis sought to punish him then she would very well kill a king; true or not. He would die. She would kill anyone who dared laid a hand to stop her too. If she died in the process, she didn't very much care. "Aza?"

"What?" Finally getting out of her head and acknowledging her surroundings, Aza's eyes look up at Dareon. She could see how confused he was by her lack of attention, and she wonders if he's catching the hint that she has a lot of things on her mind. "You called my name, yeah?"

"I asked if you were excited." He looked frustrated, possibly irked he had to repeat himself. Aza doesn't care if he's annoyed or not, she's only worried about Jon. "Are you?"

"No," she answered honestly. "I really don't fucking care about this election. Nobody I like will win." If the Father was real along with the Seven, he would cast judgement and make sure Thorne did not receive the title of Lord Commander. He would give it to someone who deserved it, who people would follow, and who people would respect. He would give it to someone who held compassion and would do their duty as they should. But if the Seven is not real then hell is really what they're truly living in.

Dareon tittered at her reply, almost as if he expected it. "Then who will you vote for?"

"Common sense. Seven knows plenty of you need it." She could hear Samwell laughing behind her at her jape. She didn't react to it, however, for she was trying not to show she was too amused by anything. Ser Alliser was looking at her from the corner of his eyes and he was just itching to say something. He's probably wondering where she went when Mance was sentenced to death. He'll even considered it a plot that she and Jon concocted to not let Mance Rayder die so wickedly. Common sense… That's what she would vote for because she'd rather plunge Flyssa through her own heart than to call Alliser Thorne her Lord Commander.

Biting her thumb didn't help, so she settled for the next best thing. Tugging at her chain, she pulled out the Shadowcat tooth that was tucked away under her boiled leather. She never went a day without it around her neck, so it feels like an extension of herself like Flyssa does. Her thumb began to rub against the smooth, white fang to calm her frayed nerves. It worked, almost immediately, and her tense shoulders loosen and drop. Jon would be fine, she tried to tell herself for the hundredth time.

Stannis won't kill him and Jon won't let himself be killed because he gave into her stupid promise hours ago in the library. Aza could feel the embarrassment as she remembered it. He probably wondered what drove her into speaking to life such childish thoughts. More or less, he might still think of her to be a child. She must not be a woman yet since she's still making promises of that nature. Rickon makes promises like that because he's an actual child.

With her thoughts centered on Rickon, she can see him sitting over at a bench with Olly, discussing their own little input of the election to each other. Although she can't hear them well, she's sure Rickon feels important in a room among men. How did he feel watching Mance Rayder burn before Jon killed him? That was a real concern of hers. He was handling it well—better than she did over Rykker—but who was to say that nightmares won't take him when he sleeps? Sometimes he came to her cell, telling her that he keeps thinking about Ser Rodrik, the Master-At-Arms of Winterfell, and how Theon Greyjoy could barely take off his head. He said had frequent dreams of it rolling across the yard of Winterfell, and sometimes it spoke to him. He also had dreams of a Maester Luwin, bleeding and smiling under the heart tree. Rickon's still so young and his nightmares are cruel. How many horrors must he witnesses to be halfway nine?

"Jon?" Aza spun on her heels as Sam said his name. All she can see is curly hair of black that shines from the little light that seeps into the crowded room. It's not Satin's hair because his hair is of looser curls than Jon's silky, taut ringlets. She smiled, thoughts no longer haywire, and it doesn't last. Her smile ends up leaving when she sees the look on his face. He looks troubled… Though why should that surprise her? Jon is a broody man and trouble always seems to follow him as much as it follows her.

He sees Sam first and claps him on the shoulder, but when he sees her, he smiles with his eyes. "King Stannis was angry, wasn't he?" Samwell asked, wondering what kind of conversation took place minutes ago.

"No so much." The answer surprised her, leaving her feeling stupid for worrying so much. "He said he would reward me for my bravery and the reward for it was for me to kneel. If I knelt before him, swore my fealty, he would name me Jon of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

And it all had gone silent for her.

Jon's mouth was moving, speech flowing out of it and yet she couldn't hear any of it. The conversations being said all around them that she heard so clearly before had fallen on deaf ears. She couldn't hear a thing because the loudest sound in the world for her was of her own heart breaking. Legitimized and made a Stark? He could leave. He would leave. He would leave her. Jon would leave her and be who he always wanted to be; Jon Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. He wanted that, she knew he did. He was always envious of his brother and he felt guilty for it because he was a bastard and bastards didn't deserve things like titles, castles, and acknowledgement. He could have it. He could have it right now.

 _He's not yours._

 _He's Jon Snow. Now he'll be Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell._

 _He's not yours. He was never supposed to be._

Her mind was suspicious before; she knew better and she, like the Shadowcat that she has been called a few times before, pounced on what she wanted with no second thought. _It hurts._ Her chest is aching, the pain is so grueling, and she just wishes she can take back that stupid, half-ass confession that Samwell's encouragement made her say. She wants to take back everything, she wants to go back to when things had not gone this far since it made to end so soon.

"I'm going to refuse him."

That broke the trance she was in, and sound floods her ears again. She can hear him, she can hear many conversations close and far. What broke the spell? Her shock that Jon would give up what he always wanted or her selfish heart feeling saved from the whirlpool of devastation? She doesn't know. She doesn't care to know. If she thinks about it and realizes it's the second one, she'll hate herself. She'll hate herself for being that greedy of him.

"You bloody idiot." Aza shook her head, confused as to what led him to make such a decision. "And just why would you do that?"

"Aza's right." Sam, quite dumbfounded, had blinked several times in confusion. He can't believe it. His head is too smart to try to understand Jon's rejection of the greatest thing he might could ever get. "You'd be the Lord of Winterfell."

Jon looked at Samwell first and then at her, and she feels wrong. Aza wants to curse him for giving her that look. It's a sad one and one that makes her feel thrice as guilty for her thoughts. "I swore a vow to the Night's Watch." That's right, Jon is still honorable; she has only tainted him a little, not completely. The Night's Watch is until death and she had nearly forgotten that. "If I don't take my own words seriously, what sort of Lord of Winterfell would I be?"

"A good one," Aza blurted out and her mind was steadily screaming for her to shut up. "The North needs a Stark. You could be the one to make the North be what it once was again. You have the Stark blood, which means you have a right to Winterfell because of it." Ideas. She's giving him ideas and encouraging him to leave her like some fool. She should keep quiet, let himself convince himself to stay in the Watch and at her side. But Jon can have his dream; a dream he always wanted since he was a small, broody boy. And his happiness…

His happiness means much more to her than her very own.

How come being happy and making one's dreams come true are two different things? She doesn't know why. "Rickon has a right before me," Jon clarified, seemingly having thought of this for a good while, "and he's but a boy. He can't be a lord yet and if anyone else should have it, it would be my sister Sansa." He's adamant about not taking it and she should be happy, but she's not. He always denies himself of things he wants because he's used to not having what he desires or being able to rightfully receive them. He's stupid. He's still hers—thank the Seven—but he's stupid.

"Crowded," Alliser spoke up, voice louder than everyone else. He sounds happy, at least as happy as Thorne could ever muster to be. "You'd think we were serving venison stew."

Aza wished Hobb did make some. She was still somewhat hungry and venison stew was like a luxury to them. She followed Jon, who sat down at the closest table, and stood behind him with Samwell to her right. Maester Aemon was at the high table, rising slow due to his old age. "Does anyone wish to speak for candidates before we cast our tokens for the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?"

She began to fold her arms, eyes halfway closed and looking elsewhere. All she wanted was for this be over and done with. Her eyes slew themselves towards the upper right, seeing Janos Slynt had bothered to stand first. His voice annoyed her and now she was forced to hear it, "Ser Alliser Thorne is not just a knight, he's a man of true nobility." There was so much shit coming out of his mouth and he only just started. She could nearly mistaken the common hall for the privy right now. "He was acting commander when the Wall came under attack, and led us to victory against the Wildlings."

He led them to victory? Aza took a step back, shocked that had came out of his mouth. Her eyes looked to Samwell, mentally asking him did she hear right. Samwell shrugged his shoulders, knowing very well that Janos was lying, making Alliser much more bigger than what he really was. He did his part, she would give him that, but he did not lead them to victory.

"Hear, hear!" Some of their brothers had said, concurring Janos' words as truth. Liars, she wanted to call them. Imbeciles, she wanted to say too.

"He's a veteran of hundred battles and has been a defender of the Watch and the Wall almost all of his life. He's the only _true_ choice." Bullshit. Complete bullshit, she's screaming in her head but trying not to make a fuss. They were itching for her to do and say something, and she was nearly ready to give in.

That smile on Alliser's face? She wanted to slap it off. She wanted to tell the men to shut up as they cheer and beat on the tables for Thorne and Janos' stupid speech.

"Is there anyone else?" Aemon had asked.

One of the brothers from the Shadow Tower, Mallister's men, had made it his mission to speak now. Aza looked at him and then at Mallister, an old man who just might die in the middle of his command if he was chosen. She still preferred him and if voting for him wouldn't guarantee him to win, she'd do anyway. "Ser Denys Mallister joined the Watch as a boy and has served loyally longer than any other ranger. Through ten Winters he served. As Commander of the Shadow Tower, he kept the Wildlings away. We could do no better."

The men began to bang the bottom of their cups on the tables, however, they're not as loud and not as passionate as Thorne's. By their reaction, Aza was starting to fear the worse, but Cotter still has a chance.

But his name wasn't said. Her eyes looked around, waiting for someone to announce Cotter Pyke's name and it didn't happen. So Mallister or Thorne? This election was already decided now. "If there's no one else, we will begin the voting. The triangular tokens count for Alliser Thorne. The square tokens for Ser Denys Mallister. Each brother will—"

"Maester Aemon," It was Sam that interrupted the Maester, making her turn her head to look at him. Everyone wore the same look, shock, as he stood next to her. What was he going to do? Was he going to offer himself as candidate or was he…

Her lips brightened into a shit-eating grin.

"Samwell Tarly. Go on," Aemon encouraged him, his voice had made it sound that he knew exactly what Samwell was going to say as well.

Her eyes looked down at Jon, who was still sitting, but shaking his head with his eyes all wide as a wolf pup's. Of course Jon would refuse it. He always wanted to be Lord Commander and here he is, denying himself of the things he wants for a hundreth time. Aza, curling her hand in a loose fist, punched his shoulder to make him look at her.

 _"Don't…"_ Her eyes said.

 _"I can't."_ Those grey eyes are telling her that, over and over. _"I can't. I can't. I can't."_

 _"You can."_ And like she knows for sure, she began to smile. _"And you will."_

"Sam the Slayer," Janos taunted him and people have the nerve to laugh. Aza's expression morphs, a look so sour as her eyes look at each and every man that thought Janos to be funny. "Another Wildling Lover, just like his friends, Jon Snow and the Islander. How's your lady love, Slayer?"

Her mouth opens to defend Sam and to her surprise, he decided to speak up for himself. "Her name is Gilly. Brother Slynt knows her quite well. They cowered together in the larder during the battle for the Wall."

And wasn't that rich? Why hadn't she been told of that? Janos hid with Osha, Rickon, Gilly and the whores in the Vaults when he should've been fighting. People were dying to protect the Wall and Castle Black, but he went to hide? He was a Commander of the Gold Cloaks once and thought himself to be so great. Her eyes narrowed at Rickon, who raised pleading hands at her, begging her not be angry that he hadn't told her any of this.

"Lies!" Slynt shouted now that he was the one people were laughing at.

"Wildlings, a little boy, a baby, whores, and Lord Janos. I found him there when the battle was over in a puddle of his own making," Samwell continued, and the laughter became raucous.

"You had a little boy defending the door?" Aza raised a brow as she interrogated him, "A little boy and a Wildling? You have some fucking nerve to speak, Slynt. People died and you hid! Rykker sacrificed his life, burned to death, and you fucking hid!"

Rowan, who she didn't know to be behind her, had pulled her back by her shoulders. "It's true," said Samwell, looking at her. She calmed, only because she knew Samwell was going to name Jon as a candidate. "Whilst Lord Janos hid with women and children, Jon Snow was leading."

It surprised her when the hall had grown quiet, and all eyes were on Jon and Sam. People were listening, considering his words. "Ser Alliser fought bravely, it is true. And when he was wounded, it is Jon who saved us. He took charge of the Wall's defense. He killed the Magnar of the Thenns. He went North to deal with Mance Rayder, knowing it almost certainly meant his own death. Before that, he led the mission to avenge Lord Commander Mormont. Mormont himself chose Jon to be his steward. He saw something in Jon, and now we've all seen it, too. He may be young, but he's the commander we turned to when the night was darkest."

The cheers were strong, the banging of cups to table so loud you couldn't hear your own thoughts. It was louder than it was for Thorne, and Aza had hope to believe that—

"I can't argue with any of that." Thorne stood, eyes looking at them all and making the room quiet again to give him a chance to speak. "But who does Jon Snow want to command? The Night's Watch or the Wildlings? Everyone knows he loves the Wildlings and spoke with Mance Rayder many times. What would have happened in that tent between those two old friends if Stannis' army hadn't come along? We all saw him put the King-beyond-the-Wall out of his misery. Do you want to choose a man who has fought the Wildlings all his life, or a man who just might be one of them?"

Aza refused to be held back now. Before Rowan could keep his grip, Aza marched forward, pushing through anyone who stood in her way, until she was standing right in front of Thorne. Her head tilted back, having to do so since Thorne was so much taller, and she looked him square in the eyes. "You are the reason Grenn, Donnel, and Cooper are dead! You!" Aza raised her hand, finger pointing accusingly at his face as she tried not to cry tears of anger. Her eyes are glossy and hot, begging to trickle something, and she refused it. Thorne would take her tears for weakness and she was definitely not weak right now.

Nobody had spoken a word. The common hall was so quiet that one could mistake it for a lichyard. "Jon told you to flood the tunnel because the giants could get through, but what did you do? You and First Builder Yarwyck didn't listen and men died for no reason!"

"Remove your hand from his face or I'll—"

"You touch me, Slynt, and I'll pluck out your fucking eye and shove it down your throat." Her threat was real and the way Janos looked at her with astonishment and fear was also real. Her hands were shaking and her eyes near slits. Shadowcat, Halfhand and Tormund both come to mind, and she bared her teeth as if she had fangs like the one around her neck. Janos took a seat, clearing his throat and looking away. He knew better than to push her. She'd be more brutal than the Wildlings ever could be to him if he took her there. Now that he had been made quiet, she looked back at Thorne with the same burning hatred she always had for him.

"How can you lead us if you don't listen to your own men when they give you good counsel? How can you lead us if only listen to who you like than who is right?" Thorne's eyes felt like fire on her skin, and he probably wished she scorched instead of Mance right now. Tearing her eyes away from him, she turned to look at her black brothers. "Lord Commander Mormont and I had our differences. Sometimes I didn't like his choices, but whether I liked them or not doesn't matter. He made sound choices, choices put above his own pride for the sake of his men. He told me once that Jon Snow was the future of the Night's Watch, and I believed him and I still do. If the Night's Watch is to have a future then it's because of Jon Snow and not Alliser Thorne, whose pride will keep him from making us grow and kill even more of us."

Aza turned to look at Aemon, who held an expression free of any emotion. He waited, making sure that no one else had no more words to say. "It is time."

 **JON**

He stumbled back, trying to not let himself fall as his face was being rained with kisses. Her arms are around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist. He's supposed to be packing, bringing all his things to the Lord Commander's Tower, but Aza's excitement couldn't wait and he doesn't want it to either. "You won! You won! You won!" She keeps repeating or rather shouting, kissing him between each squeal that leaves her. She's that happy for him and it's not because Thorne isn't the Lord Commander, but because she knows that he had wanted to be in this position. His happiness, his dream, means more to her than Thorne's scorn.

Still… he finds himself sad.

 _"Tell Robb that I'm going to command the Night's Watch and keep him safe, so he might as well take up needlework with the girls and have Mikken melt down his sword for horseshoes."_ Is what he told Tyrion to tell Robb when he left the Wall and went to Winterfell again. Robb is dead, though. Jon can't keep him safe. He couldn't keep him safe before either. Robb's shadow might've seen him elected, at least he hopes it had. He wrapped his arms much more tightly around Aza, and she doesn't know he did that for just a little bit of comfort because of where his mind had gone. He won't tell her about it because then her smile will leave and she'll worry. They shouldn't have to worry about anything in this moment.

"I suppose I can't just call you Jon anymore," she said, lips finally ending their unabating downpour on his face. Her hands are in his hair, combing through it and mindful of any tangles her fingers meet. She combs them out, easily and gently. It still amazes him, sometimes, that her hands know when and how to be gentle. "I have to call you Lord Commander or Commander Snow, Lord Commander Snow is too long." He likes hearing her say it, trying out what she likes best. He likes all three because it's her saying it. "My Lord?" She tested out, and he doesn't know why hearing her say that sends a jolt through him that only goes low. "It feels strange calling you that, so I'll say Commander Snow." Aza knows that behind closed doors, she can call him Jon whenever she likes. Even if he did like the way her Summer lilt sounds as she says his new title. "I should let you pack," Aza said, but his hold won't let up.

Her brows shot up, curious as to why he refuses to let her go now. She waited, patiently, even though his throat feels tight from the wave of emotions that overwhelm him. "You and Sam are always pushing me, encouraging me to go for things that I want and…" It's embarrassing, the way his eyes are welling up and he's trying to blink back tears. Her thumb managed to catch one that leaves the corner of his left eye. She's still smiling and her eyes are so warm that he just might melt under her gaze. He wanted to thank her and he couldn't even say it without tearing. But she knows, he can tell, just by the way she kissed the center of his forehead.

"Sam and I can see how great you are." Her thumb keeps wiping his face, looking every bit as proud of him. He likes that. The way she looks proud to love him, to cheer for him, and to fight for him. He hasn't had that before. It makes him feel capable doing anything. "And so have many of our brothers in the Watch, and even the Maester. You're great and that's why you won today. And in the days to come, you'll be even greater than you are right now and greater than you were yesterday."

Before he could get the chance to speak, Aza's legs unwound themselves from his waist and her feet land on the floor. Her arms are back at her sides and she looks over at his cot that has a bag sitting atop of it. "C'mon, let's pack your things so you can lay in your nice, big featherbed." It sounds more bitter than it sounds congratulatory, which leaves him confused. "Fuck you for getting a featherbed." His worry left him and a laugh takes his frown's place. She's jealous over a bed? He understands, silly as it is. A featherbed will feel like a dream compared to these weathered cots.

"It'll be difficult," he said, standing behind her and placing his arms around her shoulders, "and we'll need to be more careful, but you can sleep on the featherbed."

"Sleep?" Aza's smirk can be felt from here and the sad thing is, he's smirking, too. "Sure you don't want to fuck me on your featherbed? That's what you really meant to say."

"It's better than the desk and the floor. The Princess likes the library too, she teaches Gilly there now. We need another place." It doesn't really matter whether it's a featherbed, floor, desk; library or Commander's Tower. Once wasn't enough. He wanted her twice, three, four and more. He wants to shed her of her uniform, see the body she keeps hidden under all black and free her breasts that he has only touched once. The entire world seemed to disappear when he was inside her; he forgot to fear death, forsaken responsibility, and he wants to feel that again. It's wrong to search for a place where nothing but peace exists when you have duties, but it feels good and right as wrong as it is. Everything a man desires is always made to be wrong.

His hold on her loosens since she turned to face him now, brown eyes just a shade darker to tell him what she wants. Her hands reach for his shoulders, fingers grabbing the black feathers of his cloak and he doesn't give her the chance to pull him in. He is the one that leaned to kiss her, and somehow forgets to breathe when he does. Kissing her makes him feel like breathing doesn't even matter either. He's irresponsible when he needs and wants her, and one would call that a weakness; a sweet weakness. A _dangerous_ weakness.

His hands found their way into her hair, fingers rubbing the scalp. The kiss ends right there because the both of them jump, sobering themselves up immediately when a knock comes to his cell door. Aza quickly goes to fix her hair and moves away from him, trying to look as if she's helping him pack by grabbing random and unnecessary things. Meanwhile, he's annoyed and wondering who decided to come see him at this time. The first two knocks were out of politeness since they meant to open the door whether he gave word for them to enter or not. It was Ser Davos Seaworth that held the door for King Stannis Baratheon to enter.

What could he possibly want with him now? "I thought you'd already be in the Commander's Tower, but I see you have things to pack," said the King, knowing very well there wasn't much room in this cramped place, and Aza is technically tucked into a tight corner. Stannis looked away from his packing bags and then at his left to look at her.

Aza, reluctantly, knelt down before him out of respect even though Jon knows she doesn't care for the man much. Stannis' signaled for her to rise and she gets back on her feet. "It's you again," Davos looked rather unsurprised to see her and Jon began to wonder just when and how did the two meet. Since he knew her, her first meeting with people can go extremely… left. That's just putting it mildly, too.

"Aye, it's me, Ser Davos." Tactful as she tried, she sound not-so enthused to engage in conversation.

"He's the one you met training the boy?" Stannis' asked him, only giving Jon little of how she came across the Onion knight.

"Aye, Your Grace. He was teaching the boy well." Stannis' nodded, eyes observing Aza and Jon couldn't help but feel that something was off. The room held strange tension and he didn't know if it was all in his head or reality.

With a hum, the Baratheon king with his hands clasped behind him, turned to face Aza fully. Defiant as ever, she looked up at him with little regard that it was dangerous to stare down a king. If only her pride wasn't half her personality."Melisandre tells me there is also a sister sworn to the brothers in black." Jon's blood gone cold; skin blanching the shade of a corpse from words alone. "Tell me, why would a girl such as yourself disguise herself as a man and swear a lifelong oath to the Night's Watch?"

* * *

 **A/N** : I decided to leave Shireen and Seylse for the next chapter because wow...

nzOptimist: Omg! No, you should get sleep. Updates can always wait. It's funny though because all her answers are all over the place and she still can't see it.

Wolf Warrior: The sad thing is, is that it could be. It's not though because I don't have the heart to do that. Lol.

CherryTootsiePop: Is he? Or he is not? Who knows?

minstorai: I figured he would considering they spent so much time North of the Wall and sleeping close by each other. Jon is super observant about a lot of things, and even something as little as that wouldn't go unnoticed. I think Arya feels sad about flowers now because they'll remind them of her father. I always think of when she got herself dirty giving Ned some flowers she picked on their way to King's Landing. I can't imagine Melisandre always acts nice, at times, when she wants something/has a motive. She can't just pull out the Lord of Light crazy talk without making herself seem normal at first, even though it's hard to see her as normal regardless. A Tormund and Aza reunion technically could've played out during Mance's burning, but neither one would've been able to say a world to each other with Thorne and everyone breathing down their necks. I'm sad about it myself. I wish the show kind of explored how much Jon wants to have children, even knows what he would name one, but I guess it makes sense considering where he's at and all the changes they made. He'll have to get used to it because Aza is not going to stop saying it. Ahhhh, I'm so glad. Jon is so much fun and sad to write, especially up until this point. It's funny because there's a line about Summer Islanders always calling things how they see them and not having any imagination. Olenna says it as she's trying to remember the name of a fish that puffs up and in the Isles it's called a puff fish. Her lack of prettying things is because of canon. Lmao. I'm glad, I think that's the best thing of a story when you can see an OC interacting with an already existing character. It's really easy to make them out of place. Bastard Bowl really is amazing, but I was so scared all through it? I knew Jon wasn't going to die but I was scared for Tormund, and I nearly had a heart attack and Rickon really upset me. The people I love are safe in Hardhome, so it's twice as better. Lol.


	15. Chapter 14: You Can't Go Back (M)

**STANNIS**

He expected fear.

With a secret of this magnitude being found out, he knew the girl would be riddled with it. He first thought she would panic, just like any other person would have in her place; rummaging through her thoughts for lies and excuses to be babble in order to protect something already unraveled. This secret was no ordinary one; a matter of life and death, it was. However, his expectations weren't met for this girl had no intention in feeding in this foresight he apparently didn't have.

She did not react as he thought she would. Her eyes held no indication that she was shocked and no words spilled out of her without control. She's not twitching or easing herself to mask her panic because there is none. She's still, she's holding his gaze, and she is looking at him as if her secret does not hold the weight it should have over her head. Brave… or perhaps foolish; Stannis couldn't decipher of which he deemed her to be.

"Your Grace," Davos called to him, filling the empty and thick air with words. "I find it hard to believe a woman could pose herself as a man and get away with it."

That was the greatest fault of men. They underestimated the power, the influence, and the strength of women and they were shown each and every time why the should not be doubted nor overlooked. "And why can't a woman do just that?" he asked, not breaking the gaze he held with the Island girl. He wanted to know what she would say and do next, he wouldn't be able figure it out if he did not pay close attention to her actions. "I see my question still goes unanswered." He kept the means of the conversation on the only person that held significance to him in this moment. "Is your silence your answer or is it your defiance?"

Jon Snow, who had been standing idly, had schooled his features after the shock wore off. "Your Grace," Ned Stark's bastard said, taking quick steps to shield the young girl as if Stannis was going to harm her without reason. It offended him, not nearly enough for him to voice it. "I fear Lady Melisandre has led you in the wrong direction. Aza is a man of the night and swore an oath, the Priestess is mistaken."

Before Stannis could tear apart the blatant lie Jon Snow had spoken, the girl had stepped away from behind him and stood at his side. The look in her eyes was intense, showing some sort of conviction. "What is it that you acquire of me, Your Highness?"

"What makes you think I acquire something from you?" His brow quirked, curious of what made her believe that.

"Because Lady Melisandre does." Davos had informed him that she was hot-tempered, clever and intransigent. Stannis had come to greet her knowing she wasn't as moronic as half of the men here. Her temperament was unlike of what Davos prepared him for and Stannis had every reason to believe she knew she had no right to be angry given this situation. She spoke to him politely, accepting her situation rather quickly and wanting to move past the details of her gender and her being here in a smooth fashion. She knew he had a purpose for being here and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. His knight's description about her being clever was entirely true; she knew to tread lightly before a king and in doing so, she hoped to gain something from it.

With his arms clasped behind him, the Baratheon kept his stoic expression and never averted his eyes. "Do you know of Azor Ahai?" As soon as the question left his lips, her face bore confusion. Her answer was a shake of her head. "A warrior of fire from a time long past; a promised prince. It is known that I am him come again." She stumbled back, out of surprise most likely. She wore the look she should have when he outed her for being a woman in the Night's Watch. "Just as surprised you are, I am myself. I am more than astonished that I am to believe that I need some girl who hasn't even lived past twenty years for my victory. I thought it to be insolence at most. How could the likes of you aid me to my victory for my throne?"

When Melisandre first told him about it, he thought that all the doubts people had of her were true. A girl of eight-and-ten, fighting with him in a battle? Stannis firmly believed that such a girl should have no place, but when he gazed in the fire… He saw it, not the girl, just himself in the snow and fighting with all life that remained in him. How could he not believe her when he saw that for himself? He was willing to do whatever it would take to give him what is rightfully his. If it means to take a young girl from the Night's Watch and place her in his army then so be it. Pride wasn't worth nothing if it obstructed him.

"It isn't about _your_ throne, Your Grace." There it was, that temper. It was like the beginnings of the flame, if he fanned it more than necessary it would be wild and harder to tame. "The Long Night is far more important than a throne made of melted swords."

"You need skilled men for the Long Night and what army is more fierce than the Seven Kingdoms reunited once again? We need Westeros under one army following behind one ruler with one purpose," Stannis informed her, painting the bigger picture than just him wanting the Iron Throne. She couldn't be so daft to not see that.

Her eyes averted from him, her nod slow as if she know fully understood what he aimed for. Aza was much more mature than he thought she would be or perhaps it was simply because she knew better than to test him. He was her executioner and her salvation, the latter is immensely sweeter than the former. "I cannot leave the Night's Watch. I swore an oath."

"You swore your oath as a man and that you are not," Stannis reminded her. "And since I've been made aware of this, I cannot leave you here."

"You mean to take her, Your Grace?" The calm that was on Jon's face transformed into frustration.

That was all he needed to know that it wasn't just mere friendship between the both of them. "If you care for this girl, Lord Commander, you will see that her being here is a danger in itself. It is a danger to the order, to you, and to herself. She has hid for quite some time and while luck may have given her time to go unnoticed, it will not always remain that way. I'm giving her the choice to leave, which she and yourself should gladly take."

Locking his jaw, the Lord Commander turned his head away, hopefully to realize that this was her only opportunity of living a longer life than one could possibly have here. "You either leave dressed as a woman or you leave with the Lord Commander telling your brothers there has been a woman hiding within their ranks." Neither choice would be to her liking and it wasn't meant to be. She made the mistake of staying here, pretending herself to be a man and now she shall rightfully pay the price for it.

"The Watch will send men to look for me if I am gone without explanation," she made clear, "for I would be deemed a deserter."

"They would also want to seek justice as well if it known to them that a woman was parading herself as a man and swearing an oath just and _only_ for men."

Her lips remained closed, having nothing else to say. Stannis took her silence as a means to think on what they discussed. "I did not expect for you to be so civil." The girl rose a brow, looking up at him with her expression one of confusion and obvious irritation. "Many of your brothers say you are of hot blood as most Summer Islanders."

"I heard a man say that to make you bend is to make you break, Your Grace." Her smile was a forced saccharine.

He frowned, instantly and his jaw tightened just a bit. "Perhaps heeding to rumors is an inane act."

"I agree." With a bow of her head, she looked away, knowing the conversation was at a complete end. There was no use of him standing here and studying the newly Lord Commander and this Islander girl whose life was a matter of victory or loss for him. His eyes slew to Jon Snow, who bowed his head as well and kept it so until Stannis bid him a silent goodbye with a simple nod.

With a turn, he left Hardin's Tower with Davos trailing behind him in the stairway. "The girl is something else," Davos decided to speak again, "isn't she, Your Grace?"

"Indeed," Stannis replied with calm. "If only I can persuade her to convince Jon Snow to be the Lord of Winterfell so that this journey here would not be entirely for naught."

 **AZA**

"Well…" Aza felt like she had been holding her breath all this time and now with Stannis gone, she could finally let it all out. "Shit." That summed up just about all that she felt. Crossing her arms, she wondered where everything had insanely gone left. Was it when she first met Melisandre? Possibly. Was it when she first learned that Stannis Baratheon had came to Castle Black? Perhaps. It could be the fact that things just doesn't always go how she wants them to. Her happiness is always short-lived, swept away by some powerful current that wants to drag her under until she drowns.

Out of all the men in the world, how can Stannis be the promised prince? It doesn't make any sense, at least to her it doesn't. Stannis, the Prince Who was Promised? When has he ever once been a prince? When Robert Baratheon was first crowned? True, but he's a prince no more. How can he still be promised? His time as a prince was rather short and not very substantial. Was her Westerosi history still rusty or was she missing some parts? But he isn't called the promised prince, he's some Azor Ahai as Melisandre likes to believe. Some foreign prophecy she has never heard of and something about it gives her the chills.

What bothered her most of all was her lack of choice. If she didn't follow Stannis, she'll die. If she does follow Stannis, the chance of death is rather blurry. Either choice isn't truly of her own, but a force of her hand and there's not one thing Aza hates more in the world than not having her decisions be truly hers. Not only that…

Aza's eyes slowly looked up at Jon, who stayed by the tower's door with his hand still pressed against it. It was as if he would deny any soul entry. She couldn't look at him long, especially while knowing that her days in Castle Black were now subsequently numbered. She'll have to leave him and not of her own volition. She had to leave because Stannis Baratheon held a sword to her neck and Melisandre had put the blade in his hand.

"People will come," she suddenly spoke, hand rubbing up and down her arm, "and you cannot stop them. They'll want to see the Lord Commander in his place." They barely celebrated him winning the election. He should be happy, celebrating and having drinks with Samwell and Hobb cooking him something nice. Aza hoped to see him all red-faced and drunk, now it's too late. Any happiness Jon hoped to feel tonight was taken from him and she felt most of it is her fault.

"I thought Stannis to be a better man," Jon said, eyes half-blank and half-angry and staring at the door. "I didn't think he'd be so quick to believe the words of a priestess."

"She provides results." Aza tilted her back, looking up at the ceiling in thought. "Stannis is that kind of man and the Priestess has provided him many thus far. Besides, we've heard the rumors." And they've gotten worse the more the Baratheon party stayed. Their brothers had believed Melisandre to be more of his queen than the King's actual wife. His red shadow that followed him wherever he went, they would say. Aza had half a mind to believe that Stannis might've loved her or simply cared for her more than his very own wife. She barely saw Queen Selyse around as she should've.

"And you believe it all as well?" His question made her feel awful, mostly because Aza's did dare to believe it. There was nothing she can prove or deny, but the fact of the matter is that both Melisandre and the Woods Witch had essentially told her the same story; different, in some aspects, while never having met each other and yet coming to the same conclusion.

"I don't know…" Aza mumbled, revealing her uncertainty. "Does it matter if I believe it all to be true or not? If I stay, he'll make you kill me." Who else would take her head? Jon was the Lord Commander and if he wanted to stay as one, he'll have to punish her according to law. "And if I leave, I'll…"

His hand, that was once flat against the door, had balled up in a tight fist. "Then what am I to do? Just let you go off and fight his war? You can just flee south on your own. I can't follow you but I can make sure that you—"

"And what if he is promised? What if I'm turning away from the only person that can save us from what's to come? If I am supposed to be there then what of my absence? Will something go wrong? Will he die? What if I am supposed to fight alongside Stannis but instead, I run away?" Squaring her shoulders, Aza decided to be more mature than this. She would not be so confused and down-trotted. She would not let Stannis to feel he took victory without it being of her choosing. "The Long Night is real, Jon. You know it is after what you saw North of the Wall. I didn't see it, but you did. How could you deny its existence after that? White Walkers aren't mere stories and they're coming. They're coming and bringing the Long Night with them."

She hated when quiet settled between them, especially when the matter at hand held so much importance. Their feelings always got in the way of things; she's more temperamental than he is, Jon could surprise her, every so often, with his stubbornness. "You're right…" He breathed out, almost as if it had been hard for him to admit that. Was admitting she was right all that hard? Aza sneered, somewhat annoyed by that. Her irritation had simpered down when she noticed the look he wore was a sad one. "I just feel slighted that he means to take you from me."

Her anger faltered, melting away like when ice is under the blaring heat of the sun. "He isn't taking me away from you." He actually is, if she wants to be frank about it. What they didn't need right now was brutal honesty. They needed to sit with the fact that the way things used to be might not stay that way. It never was anyway when Jon became Lord Commander, but now? Now she more than likely had to leave him. She'll have to leave him, Sam, Rickon, Edd, Rowan and Satin too.

"Stannis means to take back Winterfell and the North before bringing his fight to the South," Jon's voice was solemn, eyes glazed with thought. "To do that he must put a Stark in Winterfell. Even if he were to defeat the Boltons, he cannot have the North without a Stark at his side."

"He wanted you, yeah?" Aza replied. "You're no Stark but he wanted you. He wanted you and you could do it." Before she had hoped Jon wouldn't leave when the situation had been backwards. She didn't want to stay in the Watch without him and now she didn't want to leave the Watch without him. He wouldn't leave, she knew that much. He had a duty here and the good in him that knew his place in this world wouldn't allow him to take the North.

Jon shook his head, almost as if he was too afraid to outwardly decline. Was that a means to spare her feelings? She loathed and was grateful to him for it all at once. "The only Stark left is Rickon. You must take Rickon with you and have him be the Lord of Winterfell." Rickon is just a boy… How can he be lord? He just got used to his chores, so how should it be expected that he could run an entire northern country of Westeros? "I don't want him to do it. If Stannis means to succeed and build this army then Rickon must be the Lord of the Winterfell. It should go to Sansa but…" Sansa, unfortunately, was nowhere to be found. Aza completely understood how Rickon had ultimately become the only logical choice.

"I'll protect him." Even if Jon hadn't asked her to, she still would've protected him. She grew to care for that boy as if he were her own little brother and the last she ever wanted was for him to be harmed because he was forced to be in a position that he was too young to take. "I will guide him until someone better than me comes forward. I don't know shit about what it means to be a lord and what not, I'll just be a means of keeping him alive until he is taught what he needs to know."

Jon walked away from the tower door, making his way to stand in front of her. "Thank you." It wasn't needed nor wanted. Regardless, it had been nice to hear. "Stay with me tonight." His words caught her off guard. Stay with him? She already planned to anyway. Aza wanted to lay on his new featherbed, just so she could remember what it was once like when she laid on luxurious things back in what felt like forever ago. But his words only served to remind her that this would be one of the numbered nights she would get to spend with him alone. Difficult as it was already going to be to visit and stay with him during the night when she wasn't going to leave, she would rather take the risks if it meant she might not see him for a long time or ever again.

"Was that an order or a request, Lord Commander?" Her brow arched, her smirk at full blossom.

Jon breathed out a chuckle, his forehead coming rest against her own. His eyes look grey when they are up this close than black when he's far away. "What am I to do with you?"

Pieces of her might've wanted to save the world for the sake of saving the innocent. The good in her was still overshadowed by her own desires that strengthened with each passing moment. As she stood here, listening to Jon's laugh, she found herself wishing to keep him alive through the Winter. He'll live long enough to greet Spring, where he will laugh more than he broods.

 **RICKON**

He didn't want to read this book anymore. It wasn't interesting nor fun, just boring and long. The Maester told him to read it for it was a book many children were made to read it at his age, but he would rather be training until his arms were sore and he was drenched in sweat. He wanted to be strong, he didn't care about being smart. He wanted to be so strong that nobody would have to protect him or leave him anymore. He would do all the fighting and protecting.

"You haven't even read the first page, did you?" His head perked up, eyes looking straight up at Jon, who entered the library with a small smile on his face. He then looked to Jon's right, hoping Aza came with him to take him away to training but it appeared that Jon had came here by himself.

"I did read the first page," Rickon replied, making his nose wrinkle at the accusation, "but it's… it's boring." Jon looked as if he wanted to laugh and that made Rickon's frown deeper. "Where is Aza?"

"She went to see the rangers," answered Jon, who walked up towards the desk he sat at in order to take a seat. "There's something you and I need to talk about." And just like that, Rickon felt anxious. He closed the book and not so gladly either. He didn't want to read it, but he didn't really want to hear what Jon had to tell him since it seemed rather scary.

Rickon swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "What is it? Did something happen?"

"Do you want to go back to Winterfell?" he asked and Rickon's brows scrunch together, confused.

"You're asking if I want to go back home?" Jon nodded at his question. Rickon lowered his eyes to the table, wondering if he actually did want to go back home. He did, but he also didn't. So much has happened in Winterfell. So many people died and none of their family was home. Would he go back to find it empty? Was Theon and those strange, scary men still there? "Nobody is there…" he said rather quietly, "unless we're going back home together."

Jon's eyes lowered, a sigh escaping him. He didn't look all that happy at the idea of going home. He should be… Winterfell was _their_ home, and the both of them _should_ go back. "Rickon… King Stannis is going to reclaim our home. He's going to take it back from the people that took it from our family." His words were slow, like he was trying to make it clear of what he meant. Rickon couldn't fathom why Stannis would take Winterfell back for them? Why would he help them? What did he want? "But to do that, he must put a Stark as the lord of it."

Did that mean Jon would be the Lord of Winterfell now? Did that really mean that the both of them would go back home? His heart leaped at the thought of that and he found himself pushing his chair back, standing with his hands on the desk. "Then we're going back home? You're going to be the Lord of Winterfell like Father, Robb, and Bran were? Then we can live there and Sansa and Arya can come back, and one day Bran might too!"

The family may be incomplete, but it was fine. It would just be him, Bran, Sansa, Arya, and Jon and that was good enough. The five of them could live together and be happy, be a family and love and protect one another. Jon still didn't look enthused and his smile wasn't happy. Afraid of what that had meant, his own smile faltered and he sat back down.

"Aza will take you to Winterfell with the King." It felt like his stomach dropped.

"You're… You're not coming with us?" Jon shook his head, and Rickon felt his throat become hot and taut. He sucked at the air that felt incredibly thick and almost too difficult to drawn in. Then it finally left him, the wail that he tried to cage. It sounded primal, like a wolf's, and had a raw intensity to it that seemed to ease out all his hurt. All he knew was that Jon was going to make him leave, which is just as bad if not worse than leaving him himself. Why did their family always split apart and never stay together? Jon was the only family he had around and now he had to be without him too? He hated him. He hated him for separating them for a second time.

He left the library, running out because he didn't want to see Jon anymore. His brother shouted his name, but Rickon refused to look in the very eyes of the person who betrayed him yet again. The only person who hasn't left him was Osha, she stayed with him. She was still here despite how hard things were. Shaggydog hadn't left him either, but he couldn't stay with him because of the stupid men of the Watch. Another person that hasn't left him and didn't intend to do so either was Aza. Everyone that wasn't family haven't abandoned him, so why should he still care about his family then? They also seem to want to abandon him for some reason or another.

Rickon didn't know where to go and who to turn to. He just wanted to find a place quiet and far, just to be by himself without having to think of how he would be forced to go back to an empty home without any family. His eyes had made the world gone grey, blurring his vision, and he hadn't noticed that someone was was walking in the very same direction he was running in.

The collision made him fall, landing on his backside with an "oof". Viciously rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, the person he didn't expect to see was standing before him. Sitting on the floor was Princess Shireen, her eyes looking at him in confusion and surprise. "My apologies," she quickly apologized, and Rickon didn't understand why. It was his fault; running, barely able to see, and crashing into her. Why did she say sorry? It irritated him and made him feel even guiltier.

He got himself to his feet, dusting off his clothes and the reached out his hand. It was his fault and his mother told him once that boys should apologize and take responsibilities for their mistakes. "You're not supposed to be sorry," Rickon explained, "I'm the one that is supposed to be sorry."

Shireen looked up at him, giving him a full view of the greyscale on the one side of her face. It wasn't nearly as terrifying as Olly and some of the other Night's Watchmen made it out to be. In fact, Rickon thought them to be interesting; she was like part dragon or any other animal that had scales. The unblemished side of her was like any other girl, and he found that to be boring. Shireen was like any other girl, just with halted greyscale. Nothing special.

Her hand, small and soft, took his and she got herself up on her feet. She was taller than him, making him having to look up at her. "Thank you." Why does she say unnecessary things? He made a mistake and he fixed it, so why be thankful? _Girls_ , Rickon thought, _they're strange_. "Is something the matter?"

"It's none of your concern." It came out rude and he didn't feel the need to be polite. It wasn't any of her business to be wondering or worrying about him. She should stick to her princess duties or whatever it was that princesses do.

She didn't seem too hurt by his words, her smile just lessened some and she simply nodded. "Pardon me for asking." Pardon? Why did she talk like an old lady? Rickon rolled his eyes and then walked around her, going to gods-know-where.

"Where are you going?" asked the Princess, annoying him even more. Their accidental meeting wasn't an invitation for them to interact with each other. It was what it was: an accident.

Rickon raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care?"

Her head lowered, eyes looking to the floor. "It's not often I meet someone as young as me." She did what he believed her to think her best to explain. "Even if I am a little older, I thought it nice to talk to another…" Rickon's eyes slightly narrowed, knowing she was going to say child. More than anything, he hated to be one. People always left him, always kept him out of things, and he couldn't do anything because he was a child. He didn't want to be one and he would rather ignore that he was one. As if she sensed his dislike for the world, she trailed her words there and didn't continue.

"I don't feel like talking." Rickon began walking again, having no intention to spare a glance back. Even if he didn't see the look her face, he felt worse with every step he took going forward. When the guilt became too much to continue, he stopped walking and turned to look at princess, who walked slowly in the opposite direction. "It's not that I don't want to talk to you, Princess." Loosely biting the inside of his cheek, he wondered why he felt bothered to explain himself. Shireen slowly spun around, meeting his eyes as he balled his hand into a tight fist. "I'm just… I'm just angry right now and would like to be by myself."

Unsure if that was sufficient enough for her to understand, Rickon watched the neutral expression on her face melt to make a small and warm smile. "I understand," she kindly replied, making him frown deeply. Why was she so nice to him? _She's really, really strange_ , he couldn't help but think. "I hope whatever troubles you now goes away." Then she left, leaving him dumbfounded.

 **SAMWELL**

The Maester didn't seem much of himself these days. He was an old man, very old, and his days were surely coming to an end. For Sam, however, he couldn't imagine Castle Black without the Maester and the thought that man would die so soon had left him feeling sad. Aemon encouraged him to go find Jon and drink, be merry, and discuss the future of the Watch together, but Samwell could hardly find himself wanting to leave the man's side. "You should keep better company than an old man like me, Tarly," said Aemon, who sat at his chair, thin and wrinkly fingers touching the herbal medicine in order to place them in the proper order. Just from the smell and feel of them, he knew where each leaf and flower belonged. His mental prowess was still strong, even if he went back to a time that were long gone very randomly.

"Jon isn't the celebrating type." Samwell smiled as he looked through the letters that Jon would have to eventually read and sign. "I'm sure he has better company now to keep him happy."

"You mean Aza?" His eyes widened at that, wondering just what the Maester had meant. "Aza and Jon Snow seem inseparable since they came back from North of the Wall. I may be blind, but I can still see these things."

Before the Maester could suspect anything, Samwell cleared his throat and hurriedly tried to change the subject. "I've been reading some things in the library as of late, Maester. I found some old books about the Long Night and something about a promised prince? Have you heard anything about such a prophecy?"

"A prince that was promised, I've heard of such before. Every Targaryen has." Samwell sat up straight, eyes fully focused on Aemon, whose hands there were oily with the residue of the medicine was now in his lap. "Rhaegar, I thought… the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet."

"Do you think that maybe it is princess that is promised instead?" Samwell asked. "They say Daenerys Targaryen rose from the ashes of her Dothraki's husband pyre with dragons in her arms and on her shoulder. The smoke from the fire and the salt of her tears and the tears of the Dothraki once their Khal had died?"

Aemon was quiet and soon a dawn of realization had came forth. His eyes, colorless and unseeing, searched around the room almost as if he could see. "Fools… Fools we are, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it."

Samwell wished it were true, that it was a princess instead of a prince, but what the woods witch told Aza… It didn't seem likely. "A woman came to someone in a dream…" He tried to be less suspicious, not wanting to out Aza or anyone for that matter. "She said it was a prince not a princess."

"A woman told one of the men of the Watch that in a dream?" The Maester's head fell into a tilt, brows furrowed and eyes looking blankly up at the ceiling. "It was a witch, you mean to say."

Now he was nervous, unsure of how to explain just that. He could feel his brow starting to gather sweat as he tried to think of a good excuse to justify it all. "Well… Maester Aemon, I thought the dream to be… to be silly, yes! Silly. Why would a Witch come to the dream of a man of the Watch?" His laughter was a poor imitation of true one; wretched with all his wracked nerves.

"There are a great many things of this world that cannot be explained, Samwell." The elderly Targaryen said. "And I know you believe it just as Rhaegar believed in this prophecy, as did I. We must believe for darkness will come." His smile was weak and Samwell found himself frowning before the words were even said. "I've seen nothing but darkness for many years, and so I'm aware that I won't live when it is all the world will see."

 **JON**

His hand moved over the parchment, like his mind was directing his hand without distraction or flaw. Jon moved instinctively to the right spot, creating the picture, a castle that he had seen many times of his life. From the reflection of his mind's eye and onto the paper, he tried to make the drawing as close as it can be to the original image. He's no artist, Jon never thought himself so, but what he is sketching looks like a fair imitation than it does a poor one. All he needed to do was map out the important places that Aza and Stannis need to know that he cannot show them himself. Passages and secret entryways that proved to be important would be noted and drawn, ensuring the victory as swiftly as possible.

He hardly touched his supper, too busy focused on a battle that may not happen so soon. "Lord Commander," Satin said after standing around for what felt like an hour, "you should eat. It is only your first night here. You'll need enough rest to carry on for the first day."

"I know," Jon replied, "but I need this out the way or else I fear I may not remember as vividly as I do right now."

It has been three years since he saw the grey, granite walls of Winterfell up close and not in his dreams. He hasn't dreamed of it in a long while either, and so his memory seemed foggy concerning some areas of his childhood home. There was so much going on that it was easy forget a place that he had known like the back of his very own hand. Now he had to make sure he remembered everything about it; the fate of Winterfell now felt like it was on him and him alone.

Several knocks were upon his door and he didn't pay them any mind, too busy sketching the rest of Winterfell. "Shall I tell them you're busy or should I answer it, Lord Commander?"

"Answer it, and if it is Hobb demanding that first days of the week be soup night then tell him I don't care, he can do what he wants. I trust him to feed the men well as he always has." Satin snickered some, and Jon couldn't help but be annoyed that he was already being bothered over simple matters. He should be happy that the issues are so small like this for when they become bigger, the decisions will become tougher.

His eyes did not stray from the sketch once the door opened and Satin seemed not so surprised by who was at the door. "Lord Commander, Brother Samwell wishes to see you."

Jon was just slightly disappointed, hoping it was Aza. "Oh, Aza isn't here?" Even Samwell expected her, which was saying something. Just where had she gone off to do all day? "Doesn't matter. There's something I need to tell you." His smile dimmed some as he looked left at Satin. "I'd… I'd like to speak it, well… alone, perhaps?"

Jon finally looked up and looked at Satin out the corner of his eyes. "You're finished for the night, Satin. Rest up, you'll have to wake early in the morn."

The young man nodded, still seemingly eager as he was this morning when Jon first named him his steward. Perhaps being a steward suited him better than the other duties Alliser had him running around doing. His excitement would eventually wear off, it definitely would when the weight of his responsibilities finally hit him. "See you in the morn, Lord Commander." With a nod, he left and him and Samwell exchanged words of good night.

Soon it was just the two of them with Jon still leaning over his desk, eyes glued to his drawing. "I asked the Maester if he knew anything about a promised prince." Jon didn't want to hear more about it. He was quite sick of this prophecy already, even more so now that this prophecy was taking the one person he never thought he'd part with. "He says it is something that every Targaryen learns," Samwell continued, seemingly eager about this information he was told, "and… And you don't seem like you care."

"I'm sorry, Sam." Jon let out a very tired sigh, standing up right while keeping his eyes glued to the layout he drew. "All these prophecies, witches, and now Targaryens are involved… I'm sick of hearing about this promised prince."

Samwell's smile didn't disappear, not exactly. "It's about Aza, isn't it?"

His friend only knew the half of it. "Stannis thinks himself to be the promised prince. The Red Witch claims him to be and he believes it." Placing down the pen, Jon tightened his jaw for a moment, finding himself annoyed by the situation all over again. "She says Aza must be with him and that they'll fight together during the Long Night."

"What?" Stunned, Sam's eyes squinted in confusion and he shook his head absently. "But how and why? Why does Stannis get to be the promised prince? How does the Red Woman know that he is?"

"Probably saw it in the fire; her God gives her visions, this R'hllor." Nonsense, Jon thought it all to be. Stannis must've been desperate to believe any of it.

"So Aza is to leave with him?" Jon nodded, keeping that quiet movement as an answer to his question. "And she agreed to it?"

At least Samwell knew her well enough to know she wouldn't have consented if she didn't have a choice. "He threatened to tell the Watch she's a woman if she were to decline. She has to go and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

The room had gone uncomfortably quiet, mostly because Samwell seemed like he was at a loss for words. Jon, himself, was still trying to decipher if this was all some weird dream or reality. "Rickon hates me and Aza is to leave me. Is this the cost of declining Stannis or being Lord Commander? Or is this all because I'm a bastard getting the very things I never deserved."

"That isn't true, Jon." Somehow, someway, Samwell will try to find something positive out of this. How? Jon can't figure out how he could and he wished he didn't. He didn't want to hear that there was some good in all this. "Rickon doesn't hate you, he's confused and afraid. You have Aza because you deserve her, you both deserve one another. You're good to her and she's good to you. I don't know why she has to be the one to leave and while you had the choice, you're staying true to what you think is right, aren't you?"

So was he at fault? Was he at fault for choosing duty over Aza and over Rickon? Over his family that had been destroyed from root to trunk? He chose the Watch over Robb and his father too… If he had strayed from what he felt was his moral compass then he could've had everything, couldn't he? No, that's not how things are. There's not one man who has everything without losing a great many things in the process; no man is capable of having all he wants.

"I don't want her to leave, Sam." His fingers slid over the ink-dried map, touching the towers he remembered climbing with Robb and the walls he used to see Bran climb, too. The courtyard where Arya used to run and throw spheres of snow. Jon wanted to be there again, alongside Aza this time. Her arm wrapped around his while he gave her a tour of Winterfell. He could've been the Lord of Winterfell and then he would have to choose between her and duty again, wouldn't he? What if this was the gods telling him that things weren't meant to be as he wished them to?

"I wish I knew what to say, Jon." He didn't want to hear Samwell optimism at first and now it wasn't even able to pierce through this? What dire luck he had. "All I can say is that you and Aza should enjoy each other for as long as you can. Prophecies aside, I think you two were meant to be where you both are and as you are for a reason." That made him feel better. It may have not been much but it was enough to make Jon smile some and accept that this might've been truth. "You let your sup get cold, didn't you?"

Jon had forgotten all about it and once he looked over at his tray of food, he didn't feel his appetite spike. His stomach felt weightless and empty; it didn't demand for food and nor did it seem put-off by it. "Did you eat, Sam?" As soon as he asked, Samwell placed his hands on his stomach, as if he seemingly forgot that he didn't eat either.

"Hobb should still be in the kitchen," Samwell sounded sure. "I'll have to hurry before he leaves. Rest well, Lord Commander."

With a shake of his head, Jon watched Samwell hurry out the door. He was glad that Samwell was eating normally again since he lost his appetite after all they went through this past year. Gilly and her baby was surely the larger reason as to why Sam ate well and smiled even more than he usually did. Soon, he would have to make a decision based on the Wildlings as well and Jon had no idea on how to go about it.

 **AZA**

"You sure you want to go alone?"

Aza tightened the knot of the strings of her cloak, making sure it wouldn't budge in the slightest if the wind was a frightening force when it blew. Arching a brow, her eyes lifting up to look at Edd, who seemed rather concerned. He was going to let her go since she intended to see the Wildlings for the first time in what felt like a month or so. She wanted to see G'Winveer, Val, and Dalla's baby. Most of all, she wanted to see Tormund since she might not ever see him again. The least she could do was spend some time with them, not as often as she would like, just long enough before Stannis was ready to take Winterfell.

"I know the Wildlings better than you, _Edd_ ," she reminded him. If Edd were to stand at her side before them, she was sure Tormund would feel offended that she would need someone alongside her just to see them. Aza knew better than to think he really meant it, he only said it because he wanted her to know that going alone wasn't the only option. Edd was sweet, dolorous, but sweet nonetheless.

"Does the Lord Commander know about this?" Aza shook her head, knowing very well Jon would've been against it. He could freely see the Wildlings whenever he wanted since he was the Lord Commander, but her? Most of their brothers would question why she would want to see them and what for. She had to be conspicuous about this and because she was a ranger, it worked slightly in her favor. They would think she was doing rounds and not actually visiting some friends.

So what was she to tell Edd? Would he be inclined to tell Jon the truth? She couldn't fault him, not really, if that was his choice. He would be forced to choose between friends and even worse, his brother and the Lord Commander. "No, he doesn't." She told the truth as much as it bothered her to say it. "If he comes looking for me then tell him where I am." Jon would be angry if he found out and he would have every right to be too.

The cold-rolled steel gates had been raised, only halfway so she could easily slip through and go unnoticed. As snow crunched underfoot, she felt herself feel somewhat nervous as she walked through the snow under a night full of stars. In the distance, she could see smoke, letting her know they weren't too far away from her now. When the mass amount of tents came to view, she found herself remembering when she first came upon the Wildling's campsite. This… This was a poor replication of what she saw last. There weren't as many tents and that made her frown.

"Here comes a crow and it doesn't look t' be the bastard." Aza stopped walking immediately, slowly raising her hands to show she did not come to fight. "Why are you here, Crow?" She didn't know this Wildling and so she couldn't begin to know how to speak to him.

It was by luck that Tormund pushed through the group of Wildlings that gathered with spears and axes in their hands. "Give me some light," he said to one of them and they brought their torch closer in efforts to get a better look of her. After a minute, he recognized her, and a smile broke out on his face. "Girl Cro—"

He didn't get the chance to finish. Aza sprinted forward, practically leaping until her arms were around Giantsbane broad shoulders. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close, hand patting atop her back. Despite the heaviness in her stomach that she felt all day, she felt it flutter with happiness as she embraced Tormund. Because she's too stubborn, she won't cry. "I wanted to see you sooner."

"I know." He lowered her so that her feet could touch the ground and she could finally re-gather her composure. Aza looked at him and then at the Wildlings group, who seemed uninterested in her now that she had Tormund's approval. "You came alone?"

Aza nodded in reply, eyes looking around for any sight of Val or G'winveer. "I know it's late, but do you think Val is still awake?"

"Val doesn't sleep much these days" Because of the baby, she figured as much. Jarl was dead, the Wall had killed him. "You want to see her?" Should she? What if G'winveer and Val hated her because she was essentially a traitor? She hadn't thought of that until this very moment, and now she felt uneasy. While stuck inside her thoughts, she nodded absently and followed when Tormund led the way. Her feet were dragging, trying to stop her from going any step forward.

"I suppose you don't know that Jon has become the Lord Commander," Aza decided to fill the quiet with words.

Tormund looked at her from over his shoulder. "Is that so?" He didn't sound all that surprised, almost like he already knew or he figured this was to happen one day. "They've made a boy lead them with the likes of your Thorne stalking about?"

"Trust me," she said before smirking. "Thorne's breeches are still ridin' up his ass from the loss."

His laugh lifted her spirits only because she missed it. She hadn't realized how much she missed him or his crazy laugh until she heard it again. "Do you have a scar?"

Perplexed, Aza hitched a brow. "What?"

"A scar from when we saw each other last?" Tormund clarified.

Aza snorted, rolling her eyes. "Aye I got a fucking scar. You took a sword across my belly, you bastard." Hurrying her steps, she made sure to push him with her shoulder. It didn't mean much since he was tall and bulky; he barely even budged from her playful attack. "I should've took an eye of yours."

"Had I not left that fight sooner, you might've." Probably not, but she liked to imagine she could've. When his steps slowed and stop, Aza looked at the tent that they now stood in front of. "Little one keepin' you awake, Val?" Tormund said, making sure that Val was actually awake. Aza figured she was since there was light inside.

"He's the only man that knows how t' keep me awake at night." Aza did her best not to laugh, biting down on her bottom lip that trembled. Tormund then turned to look at her, inclining his head towards the tent's entrance. Swallowing any sort of paranoia she felt, she raised the flap of the tent and walked inside, just to find the golden-haired Wildling cradling a baby in her arms.

Val lifted her eyes from her nephew and looked up at Aza, and seemingly stiffened in what looked to be surprised. Val, who was not so easily shaken, had then relaxed and her lips formed a half smile. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you any time soon."

She didn't know what to say. All she could do was look down, wondering if this was a mistake. Val didn't seem resentful, at least not really. It still hadn't changed the fact that all that happened and considering all that her people lost—

"Don't look so down. While you thought you were foolin' me and the others, I knew better." The tip of Val's fingertip lightly pressed the nose of the baby, whose small and chubby fingers kept trying to grab her skinny finger. "Come, see the baby. You owe Dalla, do you not?"

It wasn't meant to be a debt. Due to her betrayal, it most certainly felt like one now. She was to take this baby south and what better time than when Winterfell was taken. Aza walked over towards them, bending her knees since Val sat at the end of her bed as she held him. On her knees, Aza was leveled with them and could get a full glimpse of Dalla and Mance's son.

He had Dalla's grey eyes, slighter paler than what Aza remembered, and Mance's black hair. It was straight, looking freshly brushed. He was a handsome baby. "Want to hold him?" Val offered and quickly, Aza shook her head.

"N-No!" she stuttered some, her hand sooner rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "I've never been fond of 'em when they're this small, yeah?" She never knew how to feel about babies. They were weak, fragile things that didn't understand or know anything. Other times, they shitted on themselves and cried until one wanted to rip off their ears. Aza was fine with just looking at him, if he began to cry, she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

"He isn't so bad." Val smiled as she spoke; "He only cries when he's hungry or when he needs to be cleaned. He's quiet like his mother and father." Aza's heart softened at that. Dalla was sweet and gentle, more quiet than talkative than Val. Mance, while close to his men, spoke when necessary. He didn't just run his mouth when it wasn't needed. "It saddens me he'll never know Mance and Dalla."

"He has you, so he is still lucky." Aza didn't wish to think of how Mance died; stubbornly and true to himself. Would his son grow to resent him for it or would it be the way of the Wildlings that would make him think his father died with valor? It didn't matter, the lives were gone, and the baby was still here. With Dalla's plea, Aza hoped give the boy the life Dalla wanted him to have. "As you said, I owe Dalla."

"You're leaving the nest?" She sounded surprise and Aza couldn't very much blame her. After all she did for the Watch, leaving sounded so strange as well as sudden.

Aza did her best to now show her frustration about it. Instead, she kept her eyes on the baby boy, watching him steadily try to aim Val's finger in his mouth. "Stannis Baratheon, brother to the former king, proclaims himself as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. In order for him to eventually take the Iron Throne, he needs to ally himself with the North and the only way for him to do that, he must take Winterfell from those who stole it. He wants me with him and once Winterfell is back in the hands of a Stark, I can have men take you there and if you wish to go further south, you can."

"And what of Jon Snow?" said Val, eyes slowly looking at her from their corners. "You're so easy to leave him now?"

"It's not easy," she admitted, feeling small and vulnerable. Val, somehow and someway, made it comfortable enough for her to speak about things she would rather keep to herself. "It feels like one of the hardest things I'll ever have to do." Lowering her head, Aza impassively played with the fur of her cloak. Pinching at the ends of them just to tug them, not hard enough to take off strands of the hair.

"You've come a long way," teased the blonde Wildling. "Before you wouldn't even admit you cared for him, and now you say speak your feelings for him like it is second nature."

Flustered, Aza sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes while trying to fight not to blush. "Shut up."

"You ought to go before he misses you." A pale hand came to rest on the side of Aza's head, stroking her affectionately and sisterly. It was something Dalla would've done and that thought alone made Aza's heart feel tight. "So brave and strong, I always wonder if there's any pain there."

If only Val knew how her insides felt entirely damp with uncried tears.

 **JON**

This would be their second time together—it would be, if Jon could bring himself to ask.

Gods. How do people go about initiating a thing like sex, anyway? The first time it happened between them, it had been, well, they thought they were going to die. Theon always talked about his exploits and Maester Luwin always hid away books and scrolls that the girls had always been forbidden to touch when they were children. He remembered one time Robb's curiosity just got too much of the best of him and he found one of the books that Luwin had hidden away from Sansa and Arya. Jon, too curious himself, read them and discovered that usually neither person asked each other for sex.

It just… _happened_.

The man, who is supposed to be—more or less is written to be at least—big and strong and brave. He is easily able to woo the woman with some pretty words, mostly poetry. The man would speak of her long hair, how blue or grey or green or brown her eyes were and what they reminded them of. How pale her skin was since it was a Northern book. How could he even do that? Aza had brown skin that was always warm to the touch, like the sun itself _resided_ within it.

Sometimes the woman would be the one to seduce the man with her perfumed wrists, her shapely figure or even her breasts that were always written be "bountiful". Aza was no seductress. She couldn't be with how blunt she was. Aza would use none of her feminine wiles to entice him and he would gladly say he enjoyed she wasn't the type. He rather liked her coarse forwardness, which was considered unbecoming of a woman. Jon didn't know how Southern women were, but if they were like Aza then he could see why so many men were enraptured by them.

Back to the point, sex or making love had always been seen as something so natural. It was so natural that you could even compare it to something as easy as breathing. At least, that's how it was written to be.

Older and more experienced now, Jon knew now that those books did not speak realism, and poetry doesn't seem to fit the scenario he tries to think. Not just that, this was Aza. The last thing he wanted was to say something that would have her laughing at him for… for _forever_. If only he had been more experienced with women then Aza wouldn't have to deal with a foolish man, still half a boy, who couldn't properly put his needs and wants into words. She didn't have to deal with someone who was incapable of telling her that he wanted to be intimate because her skin against his was a comfort that Jon never knew he craved before.

He sat there, watching her fingertips glide across the map he drew of her for Winterfell. Her eyes were so focused on the map that she hadn't even noticed nor felt his staring. He was glad. No doubt she'd probably berate him for _"burnin' some holes"_ in her face. "Aza," Jon called her name, watching as she slowly raised her head and turned to face him. "You can take a break."

"Just a few minutes more." As proud as he was that she was devoted and keen on preparing for this battle, he still worried about the extremities. He didn't want to think about fighting or all that he has lost. When Aza is away, he thought of Winterfell and how his father and Robb are dead and gone. He thought of how Arya, his little sister that he loved with his whole heart, is gone. He thought of how Sansa is nowhere to be found and branded as an accessory to kingslaying. He thought of how Bran is still north, unknown to be dead or alive. When left on his own, he remembers and he thinks of things that make his heart constrict and numb all at once.

As if she could tell where his mind was wandering off to, she stopped leaning against the desk and walked toward him. "Alright, I'm finished for the night," Aza calmly said, no longer worried with trying to memorize the castle layout. She came to him, as rarely as she always does, and perched herself on his lap. Greedy and foolish, he pulled her farther up and pressed his nose into the crook of her neck. It embarrassed him to wrap his hands around her back, letting his arms cradle her like she's something precious. You're not supposed to have precious things in the Night's Watch, but he had broken that rule long ago. Aza _is_ precious, whether he voiced that or not. Even more so now that he won't be this close to her for long.

He can't seem to figure out which stream of thought he preferred—thinking about how to initiate sex or dampening his mood out the fear she'll leave him soon.

Neither. _Definitely neither._

Her fingers had tuck themselves under his jaw, pulling his face away from her neck so that her mouth could seek his. He accommodated her, happily and quickly—if he kisses her, he can stop thinking for a while—prying her lips apart with his tongue, he can taste all the narrow grooves between her teeth as well as the roof of her mouth.

Suddenly, she starts laughing. No, it's more like a giggle, and nobody would believe him if he told them Aza could giggle. The sound tickled his lips, making him draw back and inch out of curiosity. "What's so funny?" he asked, digging his thumb into the small of her curved back.

"Nothing." It's something and her lips are trembling as she tries to stave off another giggle. His eyes narrowed slightly, somewhat annoyed she won't answer him. "It's nothing." Jon tugged his mouth from off her thumb, eyes averting. "Oh, c'mon… Don't tell me you're upset, Lord Commander."

No matter how she says his title in a way that makes him weak in the knees and intensely fans the fire within. No matter how she strains her neck to find and meet his lips again, Jon is having none of it. He braced her hands on her hips and held her in place. Her top lip comes to graze his bottom one every few seconds, but that is the most contact she can manage to make.

With a sigh, she gives up chasing his lips. Instead, like a minx, she starts scooting farther up in his lap again, her rear nestling against his hips. Curse her for edging away his irritation and sinking back into his state of arousal. His eyes nearly want to cross due to the contact. "Fine," she huffed, knowing he's much too stubborn to let it go. "It's just… I was laughing because sometimes I think of when I first met you and how I thought you were troubled in the head, yeah."

That's a first. She has never mention that she thought him to be crazy when they met. He did, however, remember her lack of understanding of him wanting to be here. She knew what this place was and he couldn't fault her for trying to explain to him that it wasn't what he thought it to be. Her arms folded around his shoulders, showing him that it seemed as if she had more to say. He tilted his head to one side, eyes staring back into her own as he waited. "Too bad I was right. You really are touched in the head but I still like you." Her words buzzed on the skin just slightly above his jaw since her lips were pressed close to his cheekbone.

Like. It must be her favorite word. Her words make him happy, however, it's not the one word he wants to hear. The need to confess his own feelings of love toward her had sat rather hot and heavy on his tongue, when he nearly says them his stomach would sour and roll over, and he ends up saying nothing in the end. "And you're more sound of mind than me?" He smiled, teasing her right back. "You're just as touched if not more. The way you beat Craster bloody because he hit me…"

"I still don't understand how you let yourself—" He doesn't want to hear it. Jon would rather not remember how he let the old bastard beat him the way he did. He thought not fighting back was what Commander Mormont would have wanted. On the other hand, if Jon would have fought Craster then Mormont and their brothers would all look at him as some monsters who brutalizes old men.

Jon kissed the pulse in her throat, wanting to litter red marks all over her skin. "Don't you leave any marks," Aza warned him. "I've had enough with some of these rumors."

He thought as much. He knew that would likely to heighten the rumors of her and Osha, and his body hadn't cared. How could he process things with a pretty, curvy girl sitting atop of his lap? "I won't," he promised. A promise that was becoming hard to keep.

Scooping her up in his arms, he crossed the room and took the stairs to the lower one of the tower and towards the featherbed to pin her down. It's impatient of him but time is of the essence for them now. She didn't seem to mind, her lips are peppering his face as his hands are tearing away all the black that give way to the warm brown. All he adorns is a tunic and breeches, nearly ready for bed when she waltzed her way in after he waited for her for hours. His annoyance and impatience became worth it when her legs are over his shoulders and with all the fumbling to ruck low his own breeches. He can finally tug her hips into place, notching his need against her damp heat.

"Don't miss this time." If he hadn't been aroused, he would've pulled away out of spite. He's halfway tempted with the way her mouth is in the form of a sardonic grin, and her eyes are shining with mirth that comes at his expense.

"You really don't know when to stop," Jon grunted, pressing his way into her with his hand wrapped around his length. Seven hells, she feels better than last time; he doesn't know if it is because all he can recall is memory alone or because right now his aching arousal is being smoothed from being engulfed in tight, liquid muscle.

It took the best of his self control to not twitch his hips when her warm breath let out soft and short cry into his ear. He felt sensitive all over; his ear, his face that was being grazed with the strands of her hair that came loose from her ponytail. "If I knew when to stop, we wouldn't be here." Her voice is nothing but a trickle of breath that seems lost to her, but still she finds a way to be snarky; short of breath and all.

Had it been up to him, would they both be virgins even now? Jon doubted it. Eventually he would've found the opportunity, he was the first one to kiss her after all. "I know one thing," he said as his hands grab the smooth expanse of her thighs with plenty ardor to bruise them both. "You're in no position to argue with me."

He grinned when her moans bounced off the walls in rhythm with the push of his hips. If he weren't so focused on how damp and perfect she felt around him, he would use this very moment to lord the victory over her. His mind is clouded, grunts caged behind his gritted teeth. Her hips flushed against his, legs tightening and relaxing as he keeps his grip on them. The fear of being caught shouldn't be in a pocket in the back of their minds, it should be on the forefront like any sane person; the thought of being found out shouldn't be a thrill, it was a danger, but he hasn't felt this alive since… ever.

It takes him by surprise when her hips begin to circle so fluidly against his, making him wonder when she had learned something like that. It's enough to make heat gather on the bridge of his nose, down to jaw and throat, and end up all the way down to his gut. She makes it difficult for him. She's always been good at making things harder than necessary. Due to it all being new to him before, he didn't get the chance to make sure she had her full satisfaction. How can he give it to her when she's trying to drain him dry?

With plenty of willpower, he grinds the heel of his hand onto her bundle of nerves, and right then she stiffens, hips shuddering, and his lungs feel like collapsing as he meets his own end. He's an idiot. Again, for a second time, he spilled his seed into her when there was such a large risk from doing so. She doesn't complain, she doesn't even seem angry about it. With her eyes glazed over with euphoria, Aza seems content with it all. Maybe she's not in the right frame of mind to care or maybe she knows a way to keep herself from being with child without alerting the Maester. Aza is sly, but mistakes like this should be avoided than hastily fixed.

Careful of his weight, Jon shifted himself to lay atop of her, head on her chest in-between the valley of her breasts. Her heart was still viciously pounding, almost at the same speed of his own while his lungs haven't finished their wheezing. It doesn't halt him, however, from placing his hands near her hair, spread across the stark white of the sheets beneath them. He inched close, close enough that her breath was on his lips.

It startled him, feeling her hands on his face, forcing his eyes to meet hers. There she goes, again. She's shrouding her feelings with mystery, leaving him trying to decipher what's she's thinking and how she feels. Before he can ask what's on her mind, her thumbs covered his mouth, stopping him from speaking. He's left looking at her like he's in a trance, almost afraid for the spell to be broken by words he didn't want to hear. "I love you."

"What?" Her thumbs couldn't silence him now, even though he heard her clearly. He's just hoping, praying, that he hadn't imagined it.

Jon thought she would be annoyed with him requesting for her to repeat it. Her temper always made itself the first choice when it came to her reactions. Not this time, though. Instead she's smiling, fully and happily. "I love you, Jon Snow."

"Aza…" His throat became filled with emotion. He didn't expect that hearing her say it would feel so overwhelming. No one, not a single person, other than Arya had told him that they loved him. But that was a different kind of love. Aza's own love for him seemed to have surpassed everything she once knew or thought; she had been so bent on keeping these words from him that Jon understood that for her to say it now, her love for him must've eddied itself between her fears and her iron-will. "And I love you."

"Oh, is today that someday you mentioned?" He can't help but look deadpanned, knowing she would use that against him, somehow and someway. She used everything else, which made him try to make less mistakes to fuel her arsenal.

"Shut up," said Jon, fastening their mouths together to keep her quiet. It worked, for now, as she eagerly complied, still holding his face in her hands.

* * *

 **A/N** : Wow, sorry it took me so long to update! I knew what direction I was going to go, but I completely changed it because I like to keep it straying from show canon. c: You think you had this story figured out? Well, I'm going to keep the curve balls coming. Also, I know in the show that Olly is Jon's steward, but Satin is in the books. I like Satin more as well, so I'm sticking with that. And look, she finally said those three words. It took eight chapter for Aza to finally accept it and say it; talk about being absolutely stubborn.

Guest: She'll catch a break one of these days.

nzOptimist: I had to keep Davos canon by making him go there. He doesn't hold back.

pikapyon: Thank you! Hearing that makes me happy. _I see what you did there_. I make them sweet, so when horrible stuff happens, you can remember the good times. I've been getting a lot of private messages of people trying to get clues of who Aza's father is? And this is the first time I saw Robert's name. That's a great theory, and I can't say anything other than that. !I'm definitely dedicated, I already have the end of this story and I'm going to see it through.

kate langdon: Melisandre is definitely going to have an angry Aza after her next chapter.

Shamelessly Reckless: Thank you so much! Aza is work in herself to write, so hear she's balanced and well-rounded makes me happy.

CherryTootsiePop: It's fun to be cruel, but I made up for it... just a tiny bit.

Minstorai: I can't confirm anything but that she won't die. As much as Alliser would love to kill her, I can't come up with no logical way to bring her back if I do that. Lol. Can't have Melisandre becoming Mother Teresa. Sam's reaction was so much fun to write because the library is his safe haven too and they tainted it. If that POV of his made your heart burst then I know I ruined you with this one. Essentially, yeah. There's not a whole lot of foreigners in the Watch, and none from the Summer Isles or so I read; so even they, hardcore Westerosi, would call her Islander, which isn't a slur because that's what they are called. Lol. I never thought of that, but it definitely is. I love to please and to torture because I think to be a writer, you have to be a sadist.  
I definitely knew it was you due to the length! I'm excited, really excited, when I can write Greyworm and Aza meeting. He can't go to the Isles and to meet someone from his homeland? I gush at things like that. Wun-Wun's death makes me so sad. I didn't want to lose another giant. Ramsay took too much. Way too much. Hopefully, somehow, there will be more giants. Maybe they went in hid away somewhere? Or maybe I'm in too much denial. I wanted to see Wun-Wun and the Dragons together, but I never seem to get my way. Lmao.

Kate7d: Didn't mean to scare you. This fic is not abandoned, I've just been busy this past month. Moving is really, really hard. I hope you felt happy to see a new chapter was up.

Kelly: I know your pain, trust me. Final year left me in such a daze that I think I forgot a good half of it because I didn't want to remember all the projects and exams I had to take. Thank you! I'm smiling so hard. Placing an OC in canon is so hard. I always worried if I made things weird or unfitting, but to see someone finds her seamless within the story makes me feel that all the decisions I made were worth it. I wonder if it'll always be called Jaza since Jon is canonically a Targaryen, maybe it's not his real name? I've read some theories and some people said his name is different on the show. I'm going to have decide on that too! Yikes. All I can say is that the next couple of chapters will be rough, so their tough times are ahead. I hope you don't hate me for it. I love hearing that their affection leaves you smiling because that's what I love most about fanfics. I hope you enjoyed this chapter though! It took me long enough to post it.  
P.S.S. Baby Stark is going to keep living the life he deserved!


	16. Chapter 15: Hindrances

**JON**

His eyelids flickered open, catching sight of the glow of dawn that poured into his new room, bathing it all in warm gold. A body, that was nestled up in front of him, was supposed to be there. She was before, when he first woke and lapsed in and out the very realms of sleep and reality. Now his mind was finally far too drained to dream again, proving that he was finally and fully awake. Morning is here and it's telling him that sleep isn't allowed to take him again. Autumn's mornings weren't kind but this morning far too cold and lonely; foreign and unwelcoming.

The spot that Aza laid in was neatly made, no traces of her is there like she had never laid in the featherbed with him. _She must've left hours ago_ , he somberly thought. He didn't think he would miss mornings again. The mornings where her sleeping face was all his sleep-blurred vision could see when they were North of the Wall. He didn't think he'd miss those strange days since he was so adamant on coming back to Castle Black. He found himself feeling weak and wrong by wishing they never left. That they became Free Folk and married, burdened free and happy. But neither one of them could go through with something like that. Duty is what brought them back and duty is what will separate them in the end.

Jon sat up, dragging his hands down his face to rid himself of some of the drowsiness that still breathes. Today was the official first day that he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. There were things to do, arranges to be made, and letters from Lords all over to be read and sign. Just remembering all that he has to do makes him want to lie back down and sleep. He thought about it, nearly resting his body back to the warm and inviting pull of his new and comfortable bed before the knock on his door kept his head from touching the pillow by an inch. The door opened and the clanking sounds of a plate on a tray made his brows knit before he sat back up to see Satin with breakfast. "Your breakfast, Lord Commander." Satin sounded so pleased with himself, and while Jon would normally be amused by it, he isn't, not by a long shot.

With a sigh, he fixed his face and halfheartedly tried his best not to insult his happy, proud steward. Jon could remember how he was once in this very same position except he lacked the cheer. Unlike Satin, Jon loathed that he was made a steward. "Thank you, Satin." He absently eyed the tray, a plate of boiled eggs, black sausage, and apples stewed with prunes served just for him. _Breakfast can wait_ , he told himself. "Inform Samwell to prepare the letters. I'm sure there's a pile eager for me to scour through." Satin nodded, leaving the tower without so much of a word.

The basin, he filled it himself with the flagon of water that sat at his bedside. It felt good to wash his face and hands since the water made him feel more awake when it drenched him. He wished baths were more frequent at the Wall, but they weren't and probably will never be. He would just have to dress himself in new small clothes, a clean pair of black woolen breeches, lace up the black leather jerkin, and slip on a pair of well-worn boots as he remembered warm baths that would rid himself completely of the sweat of the night.

As he made his way towards his desk, he noticed the map he drew of Winterfell was gone and in its place was a single, rolled piece of parchment. Curious, Jon picked it up and began to read its contents:

 _A First Ranger is needed for Rowan cannot carry the burden all to himself.  
He's quite good in training the men but he does not have the experience_  
 _nor the patience of leading them yet. While I resent who I think fits,_  
 _I won't so much as to write his name._ _The rangers need him and I think you know  
that to be true as well. __Lots of worries plague me, Commander Snow, so rid me of this  
one by __helping the rangers._

 _Aza_

It was written so formal and strange, like all emotion was strained for she was afraid of who might come across the note if he did not read it first. More than anything, he was surprised how neat and elegantly the words were written for it was the first time he ever saw Aza's handwriting. She wrote like a noble, like she was raised highborn and had a Septa who sat and watched, lecturing her on how to write so perfectly. He supposed sellswords were taught how to write since not all words and assignments could be spoken. It shouldn't have left him in awe, especially since what she wrote proved to be somewhat disheartening whilst true. The rangers did need a new First Ranger, and Jon knew exactly the man that Aza had in mind fit for it.

Satin soon returned, head bowed respectfully before he stood straight. "Samwell will hand you the letters once he has finished arranging them. The pile is high, Lord Commander, so I fear it might take a good quarter of the day." Jon figured as much and didn't mind. It was best to get them all over with anyway. Pocketing Aza's note, he decided to sit at his desk and finally eat before Satin wondered if the breakfast had been ill-suited. Jon also didn't want Hobb to think he wanted better food now that he was Lord Commander. He hasn't changed, not too much at least. "Lord Commander, may I offer a suggestion?"

Curious, Jon lifted his eyes from his plate to look up at Satin. "What is it?"

"We are in dire need of a First Ranger," he explained, almost like he knew what plagued Jon's mind just a mere minutes ago, "and many of the men feel that Aza would be fit for it. He has shadowed former First Ranger Jaremy Rykker, knows the Wildlings and seems to have some of the same knowledge North of the Wall as you. He's also a skilled fighter, took quite a few Wildlings down during the battle, and he seems to generally get along and holds an understanding to many of the rangers. If you are to appoint one any time soon, I would suggest him."

If only Jon could… _No,_ he set himself straight. What use would it have been if he appointed her First Ranger? Aza would not remain in the Night's Watch. Of course, they all hadn't known that and now it lies on him to make up an excuse as to why he cannot choose her. "Your suggestion is appreciated, Satin. I will be choosing a First Ranger soon."

Only a good hour flew before Stannis arrived as Jon expected he would. Satin opened the door for the King and Davos, who both walked in with purpose in their eyes. Jon would've rather not have seen Stannis for the day because resentment still hung heavy as he remembered yesterday's events. "Lord Commander," the King greeted him.

Standing to his feet as it was only right, Jon returned the favor expected of him. "Your Grace."

Before Stannis spoke again, his eyes slew to Satin who was closing the door. "I'd like to speak alone." He made crystal clear.

Satin, Jon thought, should attend meetings, to learn from experience. How would he ever hoped to gain skills of leaderships if he did not watch his leader lead? There was consequence, however, in letting him stay. It was obvious that what Stannis might speak about was something Satin shouldn't know. The decision made about Aza was something that had to be kept entirely secret. "Leave us," Jon ordered and Satin obeyed in quiet. He left swiftly, possibly to stand at the bottom of the tower's steps until King Stannis and Lord Davos made their leave.

Appeased, the three of them sat down. "Have you and the girl considered my offer?" asked Stannis.

"We have," Jon answered, "and we thank you for it. Aza has agreed to join you, Your Grace. We understand it is only right that she leaves with you and your army."

There was no smug satisfaction or hardly any look of him being pleased at all. Stannis remained stoic, almost like he felt nothing about how he easily obtained what he wanted. "And what of you? What of my offer to you? Of being the Lord of Winterfell; a Stark."

"You do me a great honor. All my life I wanted to be Jon Stark," Jon said honestly.

"Say the word and you will be."

Temptation felt stronger than it did the first time he offered. Alas, Jon could not be shaken, even now that he knew all that he would have to lose. "But I have to refuse you. I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. My place is here."

Emotion finally reached Stannis' face. His lips made a deep-set frown and his eyes held confusion as well as annoyance. "I'm giving you a chance to avenge your family. To take back the castle where you grew up. To rule the North." He reminded him of all what Jon already knew. He reminded him of the very things that make it difficult to ever think of Winterfell.

"You say a Stark is what you need and I will give you one." Davos rose his brows, surprised and curious. "My brother, my youngest brother, is alive and he is here." As Jon spoke, a sudden glimpse of Rickon's sad and angry face came to mind, making the Lord Commander's heart feel heavy. "The boy named Asher that stays here is Rickon Stark, youngest son of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. He was found not too far from here and in order to keep him safe, I brought him to Castle Black. If it is a Stark that you and the North need, Your Grace, then let it be him that rules Winterfell."

"He is only a boy," said Davos, sounding completely astonished by Jon's plan. It was sudden and unexpected as well as a choice one would only make for desperate measures. "You would put a boy, half a baby, as Lord of the North?"

"I have no choice." It was a lie, really. Jon did have a choice. The choice had unfortunately came with as many faults. "Rickon is young, yes, but with the right guidance he can grow to be a proper lord. It is his birthright more than it ever will be mine. I wish I could fight beside you. Believe me, I do, but I swore a sacred vow at the Godswood. I pledged my life to the Night's Watch."

Silence came and sat, making the air feel heavy with tension. "You're as stubborn as your father," Stannis finally spoke again, "and as honorable."

"I can imagine no higher praise." Jon replied back, his heart only swelling with pride by the by the largest of margins from being compared to his dead, honorable father.

"I didn't mean it as praise," Stannis corrected. "Honor got your father killed." Jon's eyes fell to the desk, thinking that in light of it all, what Stannis said was unfortunately true. It would not sway him, however. Standing to his feet, the Baratheon king had looked as if the fight left in him on this decision was fleeing elsewhere. "But if your mind's made up, I won't try to persuade you."

Jon's nod was slight, grateful that Stannis' persistence on the matter had died right here. "May I ask, Your Grace…" He barely wanted to ask for he didn't want to know. How was he to handle knowing the number of days that Aza would soon leave him. Yet there were other reasons that forced him to ask, especially now that he knew the cost of hosting such a large and strong army in a poor Order. "How long you plan to stay at Castle Black?"

"Are you bored of us already?" Jon was unsure if Stannis had meant to be humorous or serious. One could never tell when it came to Stannis Baratheon.

Still, Jon did his best to not mean offense. "You saved us from Mance Rayder's army." He truly didn't, at least Jon had half a mind to believe that Mance was on his of negotiating peace during their talk. "We will never forget that, but it's a question of survival. The Night's Watch can't continue to feed your men and the Wildling prisoners indefinitely. Winter is coming."

"I know it." The King wore a look that Jon could assume to mean that he did not need any reminders of that. "We march on Winterfell within the fortnight before the snows trap us here." A fortnight. All the time Jon had left with Aza and Rickon was only two weeks.

"And the Wildlings?" asked Jon.

"They'd rather burn than fight for me, so be it. I leave their fate to you." More lives were in his hands. Over the past year, when were the Wildlings lives not in Jon's hands? "You could execute them, that's the safest course." An option he would never consider. Why should they all die from fleeing from the White Walkers? All they wanted was sanctuary, and they sought it south. "Or you could see if this Tormund fellow is more willing to compromise than Mance ever was. I assume the brothers of the Night's Watch would rather see the Wildlings dead."

Of course, and Ser Alliser was the leader of that rally. "Most of the brothers, yes. There's little love for the Free Folk here." Jon made light of the fact he knew more than anything.

"You're the Lord Commander." Stannis told him, asserting that it all rested on his shoulders. "Your decision."

Before Stannis made his way to the door to take his leave, he stopped at the doorway. "You have many enemies in Castle Black. Have you considered sending Alliser Thorne elsewhere? Give him command of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

It wasn't a decision that Jon considered and truthfully, it made sense. Still, Jon had other uses of Ser Alliser. "I heard it was best to keep your enemies close."

"Whoever said that didn't have many enemies." Jon frowned, letting the words sink in as King Stannis had finally left the tower.

 **AZA**

"For a Summer Islander, you can't shoot an arrow worth shit." Eyes barely open, mind somewhat slow with thought due to the lack of sleep, it hadn't stopped her from snickering at Rowan's insulting assessment. After waking just barely two hours before first light, she felt more than tired. She was utterly exhausted. Yet her tired mind and body would not prevent her from performing her duties for the day. Just because Jon was the Lord Commander, it did not mean she had special privileges to slack off. "Have you even slept at all?" Rowan asked with his arms crossed and one brow quirked. He looked away from the straw-dummy target she seemed to miss just to take a gander of her tired face.

Her friend could never understand the lengths she had gone through last night. She, knowing good and well that she was no morning person, had to wake up at hours she never had before just to shield herself with the darkness of night. It was the price to pay of spending time alone with her own lover; thoughts, plans, and stealth were all the requirements. It sounded like a headache within itself whenever she reflected on it. In the end, she couldn't help to think it all worthwhile. "Barely," she answered, fighting not to yawn. She lowered her bow, squeezing her eyes shut to stave off her drowsiness before opening them again. "I haven't had a decent night's rest in a long while."

"Why not ask the Maester to help you sleep?" He had a point, she realized. She could go to Maester Aemon and ask for something to help her sleep, probably a drop of Essence of Nightshade. Yet her mind, tired and foggy, had felt it wrong. It was her own fault why she lacked rest and for her to cure the ailment she gave herself with Nightshade seemed quite silly.

Thankful that Rowan cared so much, she gifted him a slight curve of her mouth. "Don't worry about me, yeah?" Shifting her focus from him, the Summer Islander turned her gaze to the rangers that were practicing their archery and sword swings. "All our concerns should be about them, not about lack of sleep. The Watch has to repair itself and soon before Winter comes."

"Before that, we need a First Ranger." That was something that weighed on her mind for quite sometime and she took action this morning when she wrote Jon a note before she left. She wondered if he read it by now, surely he did since he always was an early riser. "Have you spoken to the Lord Commander about that yet?"

"Aye," Aza answered and tried to suppress another yawn. "I'm sure he'll take care of that soon."

Soon Rowan's hand patted her back, indicating that he was about to take his leave. "You ought to keep practicin'," Rolling her eyes, she walked towards the straw-dummy to retrieve all the arrows that impaled the ground instead of the target.

After glancing at the last arrow with annoyed look as she walked back to the mark to signify the proper distance. Rowan told her plenty of pointers, especially concerning how she aimed. The anchor point, which he said was key for accuracy, that she felt best was the corner of her eye. It seemed more consistent than the likes of the mouth, nose or chin.

At full draw and her aim centering on the straw-dummy's chest, she could feel _them_. Them being the eyes of the Red Woman, watching her akin to how a hawk does its prey. She stood not too far, standing on the open walkway with guards flanked all around her. Melisandre's blue eyes would not stray, just steadily focusing on her as if Aza was of such great interest to watch.

Slewing her eyes away, Aza released the arrow and watched as it took full speed towards the straw-dummy, and she had thought she finally made progress but it went right past the dummy, barely even scratching it and ending up sticking its sharp arrowhead in the dirt.

"Fuck this!" Aza threw the bow to the ground, frustrated by the failure as her hands fell on her hips and her eyes giving a intense glower at the bow as if it were all its fault. So what if she was an Islander? It didn't mean she'd have the natural skill to wield a bow! "I don't need a damn bow. All I need is Flyssa." Aza huffed, trying her best to convince herself that the art was in no shape or form meant for her.

"I hear to be a bowman, you must have patience." With a roll of her eyes, Aza didn't bother to turn to face the old man. Didn't she get enough of his lectures the first time? Of course, what was to stop him from telling her more?

"I'm sure you know, Lord Davos, that I am not a man of much patience, yeah?" she replied with her tone akin to steel. If he hadn't realized it by now, she wasn't all too fond of his presence at the moment.

Davos had taken a few steps, standing right next to her with his hands clasped behind him. She didn't need to look at him to know he was looking at her since she could feel the heat of his eyes. "Neither are you a woman of such," he replied, amused by his ownself. "Bold and sharp-tongued women are dangerous."

"Would you like me demure?" The corners of her mouths were beginning to dip into a frown. Aza own stubbornness had forcibly stopped her. "Should I be softer, sweeter, and less of my own mind and will?"

"Never," was his answer and it had surprised her. Looking away from the arrow she twirled with her fingers, she gave him her full attention. "I wish more women would choose to be bold."

"They do choose to be bold, My Lord. It is only that when they do, there's some man or woman telling them that they can't be. Why do you think when a woman rebels, she rebels wildly?"

He offered no words, just keeping an expression of thought etched on his face. At least she had shut him up and she could find herself leaving him before an argument would ensue. "I didn't come to start the day with a bicker." Like a fool, she ceased her steps to give him a listen. "I suppose my way of complimenting doesn't send its message well." He could say that again or perhaps, she was just too ready to believe anything he said to be an insult. "I came here because I hoped to introduce you to the Princess."

"Princess Shireen?" Aza hadn't met the little girl, she only saw quick glimpses of her since her mother hovered over her most if not all the time. "Where is she?"

"As any place would allow her, surrounded by books." She was a reader like Sam, Aza gathered. With the way Davos spoke of her, she could see that he was quite fond of the young Baratheon. "I hoped that being near another woman would be of some comfort to her."

Confused, she knitted her brows. "Is her mother not a woman, Ser Davos?"

"I barely think her human, if you want me honest. Her mother is a… strange woman." It was an effort for him to try to put the words gently yet it only made Aza curious. Perhaps there was something strange about Queen Selyse, even more so weird that it led Stannis to Melisandre. Of course, that was all suspicions on her part.

Back to the matter at hand, she didn't understand why he thought that she would be any better. "I'm not the best example of a woman either, yeah?" I've been masquerading myself as a man for years. What I can do for the Princess that her lady mother can't?"

"Be a comfort in the way that only a girl understands." Aza couldn't provide that neither. There were plenty of things she wished her mother had been around to explain to her. How could she teach Princess Shireen these girlish things when she hadn't learnt them properly herself?

For the things she did experience, the Summer Islander didn't think it wouldn't be so bad to share it. She would just have to watch her choice of language or else Jon would lecture her about her seemingly loose tongue towards the princess should he find out. Sucking her teeth, Aza found herself annoyed that she knew he would berate her for that.

"I still have duties, Ser Davos, perhaps on the morrow I will have the time to meet with her before the evening." He smiled some and she knew it was not because she agreed. He smiled at the hope he felt for his princess by this whole exchange.

"Aza!" Surprised by the voice, she quickly spun to see Dareon running his way towards her. What was he doing here? After the election, he had returned with the stewards of Eastwatch-by-the-sea. If he returned then that could only mean one thing. As he slowed down, he tried to catch his breath one he was close enough. "The Lord Commander calls for a meeting," he informed her. She looked around to see Rowan only to find that he wasn't here. Did he know and forgot to tell her or did he assume that she already knew?

No matter, at least she was told of the meeting or else she might've missed it or ran late. "I'll have to bid you goodbye, Ser Davos." Dareon waited, possibly choosing to walk with her to the common hall. "Until the evening." With a slight bow of her head, she watched Davos give her a stern nod.

Before heading to the common hall, Aza had placed her bow back in the armory after cleaning up the arrows. Once finished, she and Dareon had fell in step with one another, pace equaled and faces both bearing a sort of reluctance of attending this meeting. She had a feeling that she knew what this was all about and the bitterness that resided in her didn't want to see Thorne get a title she would've liked to have for herself. "What do you think this meeting will be about?" Dareon asked, unaware and inquisitive. "Did Commander Snow tell you?"

"Why would he tell me?" Aza asked, brow quirked. "Just because he and I are friends that don't mean he'll tell me everything, yeah?"

Rolling his green eyes, Dareon had wrapped his arm around her shoulder, reeling her in close as they walked. "Everyone thinks you and the Commander are as close as blood brothers." Aza visibly winced at that. _Blood brothers shouldn't do the things we do_ , she said to herself. "So if anyone were to know what the Lord Commander wanted, it'd be you or Sam."

Elbowing his side so he could get his arm off her, Aza had folded her hands behind her head as she walked. "If anything, he should be tellin' us who is goin' where."

"Who is goin' where?" he repeated, unsure of what she meant. "You mean he's going to name a few men?"

Dareon opened the door for them, just for them to enter the rather noisy room filled with conversations that bounced off the walls and overlapped each other. In the crowd, Aza searched for Sam, who had already spied her and waved his hand for her to come over. Dareon followed behind while she sat to Sam's right since Edd sat on his left. Dareon sat across the table with Rowan. She didn't expect for them to be sitting so close to the high table.

"Took you long enough," Samwell said with a smile. "Where were you?"

"Being forced to learn the bow." Her eyes sent Rowan a glare, who looked utterly unperturbed by it. He merely smiled behind his cup, like he was amused by her anger than fearful. "I thought Rowan would've at least told me about this meeting 'head of time, yeah?"

"I thought you already knew." Rolling her eyes, she let out a sigh. "The Lord Commander tells you everything, does he not?"

"He doesn't," she spat despite it being a lie. Jon did tell her almost everything, but he hadn't told her of this. "You and I are rangers, why are we leaving one another in the dark?"

"Until you tell me about the truth between you and the Wildling, I'll keep on keepin' things from ya." If it weren't for Jon's entrance, Aza would've taken the cup out of his hand and hit him on the head with it. Edd and Dareon's laughter only further fueled her annoyance while Samwell knew better and attempted to fix his face.

The conversations had not ended, but Aza's attention went elsewhere. No longer was she entertained by her idiots brothers, she'd rather set her thoughts on Jon. He seemed different and she wasn't sure how. Perhaps because it finally settled in that he truly was the Lord Commander; her superior. No more were they on equal footing. She couldn't decipher if it made her envious or sad.

He sat there, looking as if he was waiting for someone that hadn't arrived yet. His fingers would tap against the table, showing that he was anxious. What could possibly be bothering him? Why didn't he speak yet? Her eyes looked down in thought, trying to figure out what could be weighing on him. As soon as she looked back up at the high table of sworn brother, she realized that Maester Aemon's chair was empty. "Sam," he called him, possibly to ask where Aemon was. His voice was clear to her despite all the noise. "Maester Aemon?"

"He apologizes for not being here," Samwell answered. "He's not feeling well." It troubled her to hear that, even though it shouldn't have. Aemon was old, very old, and so any day it could be expected that he wouldn't be of this world anymore. Still, Aza rather liked him despite him being the blood of Old Valyria.

"Take good care of him." Warm and kind were Jon's words, and her heart loosened the ache that shortly took hold of it. He glanced at her, quickly, letting her steal the sight of a smile before he looked back at all who attended this meeting. "Brothers," he began and the conversations dwindled until it was quiet, "as you all know too well, it's long past time to dig a new latrine pit." Aza smirked as the men laugh, knowing very well that nobody had wanted this task. "First Builder Yarwyck and I have decided to appoint a latrine captain to oversee this crucial task." Once Dareon looked away, Aza slowly took his tankard that was still half full of ale. "Brian. Seems like a good job for a ginger."

It was her own laugh among the group that made Dareon catch her, sending her a heated look while everyone else laughed at Brian, who laughed as well. She stuck out her tongue, taking a full swig of his ale, just to regret it immediately. Even after all this time, she still hated the damn taste.

"Ser Alliser," Dareon was no longer glowering at her. Instead, he rapidly looked at Thorne with the same unease as everyone else. Aza did not bother to look the man's way nor did she look up at Jon since she knew what he was about to say and do. "You have more experience than any other soldier at Castle Black. You proved your valor many times over, while defending the Wall from the Wildling attack. I name you First Ranger."

While there had been shouts and cups hitting the tables in cheer for Ser Alliser, there were murmurs too. The eyes she could feel on her most was Rowan, who must've been in complete shock. It was just a little painful to know that Alliser got that position, but even if she were not meant to leave, she felt herself unworthy of it. Jon's words were right, he was experienced more than her and while he had put men in danger, he still fought and nearly died for the Watch. How could she had hoped to be First Ranger? It was a silly dream, Ser Jaremy would've thought her silly for hoping too.

"Lord Janos," Jon kept things going, not giving her any time to wallow. She doubted he did it for her, he needed to finish this meeting to attend to other duties. "I'm giving you command of Greyguard."

"Greyguard is a ruin," Janos spat, scoffing as if he felt himself too good for what he was given.

"Yes, the fort is in a sorry state. Restore it as best you can. First Builder Yarwyck can spare ten of his—"

And like the fool he was, he interrupted his own Lord Commander. "I was charged with the defense of King's Landing when you were soiling your swaddling clothes. Keep your ruin."

Aza snorted, loudly, as the men began their murmurs that started to gain volume. Samwell's large hand had grabbed her arm, possibly afraid she'd leave her seat, which she did plan on doing. "Alright, alright! Enough of that!" Tarly shouted at the men to quiet them while his hand didn't loosen its grip on her arm. At least not before he looked at her, seeking some sort of sign that she wouldn't get involved. She merely rolled her eyes, showing her compliance and he had let her go.

"You mistake me, My Lord. That was a command, not an offer. Pack your arms and armor, say your farewells, and ride for Greyguard."

Despite him bearing no room for argument, Janos had little to no respect. He stood from his bench, shouting with his face all ruddy from anger. "I will not go meekly off to freeze and die! Give it to one of the fools who cast a stone for you. I will not have it. Do you hear me, boy? I will not have it!"

Jon's expression changed. She knew that there were two kinds of anger Jon could express: hot and cold. This kind was cold; gelid as century long ice. His soon eyes narrowed, "Are you refusing to obey my order?" His voice was leveled, not even edging close to rising another octave. Just his look alone would send a shiver down your spine when his eyes were locked on you.

All of them, even she, had turned to look at Janos. All eyes were on him and it was exactly what he wanted. He was a seeker of attention, just bathing himself in useless approval. He thinks he's the best damn thing to ever grace the Night's Watch. If he was so great, why did they kick him out the Gold Cloaks? "You can stick your order up your bastard ass."

Aza's brow arched, expression shifting into one of anger. How dare he? And how dare Ser Alliser, who sat there looking so smug and obviously amused by Janos' insolence. It was clear that Ser Alliser doubted that Jon had the ability to handle the men and he thought that this would be a learning lesson to their brothers. To make them think that they had made the wrong choice. He would be proven wrong because Aza knew more than anyone that Jon's kindness has its limits. "Take Lord Janos outside." Once Jon had said that, she was sure all of them would come to see the price they would have to pay.

Without a second to spare, men were quickly leaving their seats to give Janos his rightful punishment under their Lord Commander's orders. Aza stayed to her seat, crossing her arms with a smile as she hoped to enjoy the downfall of this sniveling, stupid asshole she wanted to kill since she learned he let Rickon and Osha guard the Vaults while he hid in his own piss in a room's corner. "Olly bring me my sword." Biting down on her lip, she did her best not to laugh. Oh, this was good. She ought to reward Jon later doing what should've been done ages ago.

As she looked at the common hall in such a fuss, she caught sight of Rickon, who looked every bit as angry at Janos as well as confused about what was to happen. That's when it dawned on her that he was about to witness Janos' execution. Her eyes went wide and a wave of protectiveness flooded her. No, he couldn't see it. Rickon shouldn't see it. He still wakes in the middle of night, sweaty and crying, from nightmares of Theon Greyjoy taking the head of Ser Rodrik Cassel. The memory still hasn't left him, it scarred him just as Jaremy's death has scarred her.

While Edd stormed his way to retrieve Janos, Aza quickly jumped out of her seat to make her way to Rickon. Once she was close, hands gently grasping his arms, his blue eyes looked up at her, begging for answers. What was she to say? If she coddled him, she would be risking him never understanding the world. If she was too brusque, she could let him split off into a dark and dangerous path. He was young, still somewhat fragile, and Aza had no idea on what was right or wrong for him to see and know.

"Jon is going to kill him, isn't he?" Rickon's voice was soft, practically a whisper as Janos was being dragged outside.

"You cannot do this!" Slynt shouted. "Get your hands off me!"

As all had left to go outside outside for the awaiting judgment, the common hall was nearly empty. The only souls lefts were Jon, Rickon, and herself. She had not noticed, at first, that Jon still sat at the high table until she heard the bottom of his cup meet the table's surface with some force. Her focus had not strayed from Rickon, who she thought needed her the most. "He needs to see it." Aza's stiffened at his demand, completely surprised that he would say something like this.

"What?" Shocked, she whipped her head to face him. He was already by the open door, just one step from being outside. "Are you mad?! He has seen it before! He doesn't need to see it again."

"He needs to see it, Aza." Jon was not going to relent and she thought him cruel for a moment. "Our way is the old way," he went on to explain. "The blood of the First Men flows in the Starks. They are taught as boys that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If Rickon is to be the Lord of Winterfell as a true Stark, he needs to see it."

It was the way of the Stark and she, a foreigner, had no right to shield Rickon from it. Her eyes looked down at Rickon's, who seemed to be contemplating. Once his mind was made, he smiled at her and gave her a sure nod. "I can do it," he tried to assure her and Aza felt herself feeling a hint of pride from seeing him taking a chance to be strong.

"Aye." She nodded, rubbing the side of the boy's messy-haired head. "You can."

Jon was already gone. He had no time to linger and no reason to either now that she had understood him. She began walking alongside Rickon with steps that felt like they were trudging in the snow. Once they reached the courtyard, Jon was allowing Janos to say his last few words. Aza had thought she would find it humorous to see Janos trembling, sobbing, and begging for mercy. While some part of her felt satisfaction, the finality of death overwhelmed it, daring to destroy all traces of amusement that dwelled within. Her hands kept themselves atop of Rickon's shoulders, giving him comfort and a sign that she was there to shield and heal him should he want or need it.

Although he tried to be brave, his shoulders had completely tensed. He was still afraid. With one look cast down, she could see that his eyes hadn't shut nor looked away when Longclaw came down and separated Janos' head from his body.

 **RICKON**

"You handled it bravely, Rickon." Her words made him smile, more than he wanted to. Aza, Jon, and Osha were one of the many people he thought to be so brave and for her to consider him such made him happy. He couldn't help but to wonder if her words may be a lie, just a simple way for her to comfort him since she worried after what happened. Usually, Aza doesn't lie to him and that's why he trusts her so much. Jon and Osha had to lie to him on many different occasions and he's come to understand that they do not do it because they want to. They had only lied because they thought it right at the time. Aza, however, has only ever told him the truth, even when she doesn't want to. So were her words truly a lie? He leaned more closely to think she's being honest with him. "You didn't look away," she continued, "I thought you would but you proved me wrong."

"Jon said I had to so I did." It was a bloody mess watching a head come off the body. Theon struggled to take Rodrik's off but Jon had done it in one fell swoop. Was it because Jon was stronger? Possibly. Theon was weak and cruel and Jon was strong and good, at least that's what Rickon thought.

"You listened well." His smile wouldn't leave him as he looked into her eyes, trying his best not to lean towards her hand that rested against his cheek. _I'm not a baby_ , he tells himself. He wants to grow, be older and stronger. He wants to be able to protect all that protected him and then some. "I'm proud of you."

It feels good to hear someone is proud of him, recognizing all that he's aiming to be. A shy blush heats his face, and so he dares to change the conversation elsewhere. "Are you angry?" he soon asked. "With Jon, I meant. You didn't like that he made me do it."

Her eyes looked away for a moment before meeting his again. "I was afraid that Jon didn't understand your night terrors. You still have dreams about Ser Rodrik, yeah?" Rickon nodded to confirm it. The dreams were starting to go away, fortunately enough. "I still have night terrors too and who wants to see those scary things when they're awake? I thought he forgot that."

"So you're not angry?" His head slightly tilted, unsure if she truly answered him or not.

"Not at all." The caress of her hand turned into a sudden pinch, making him wrinkle his nose and try to fight his cheek out of her hand. "I understand why Jon did it. You're to be the Lord of Winterfell and soon you'll have to punish people the same way Jon did today."

He accepted that fact after today's events. Death wasn't kind, he knew. It was apart of the world. It was apart of life. He had to learn that the hard way. "It's because I'm a Stark that I have to."

His arms wrapped themselves around her neck, drawing her into a hug. Rickon felt she needed it more than him. It wasn't that he had no desire to hug her, but to find out she still had night terrors too, he wanted to comfort her as she done for him. He snuggled in. "Thank you," Rickon said in a hushed voice. In that moment, her arms wound themselves around him and squeezed a fraction tighter. He breathed more slowly, melting into her as every muscle lost its tension.

 **JON**

Janos' death left quite the impact. While most people thought what he did was just, he saw that more of his brothers had begun to fear him. When they saw him they stiffened, minded their words in fear of offending him, and some just walked away because they were utterly afraid. It wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want his brothers to be afraid of him, but he needed them to know that he was the Lord Commander and his orders shouldn't be ignored nor questioned. They must speak with him with respect. It shouldn't have come to this for them to understand that. All in all, it was necessary despite the cost.

As he walked down the walkway with Satin following a good distance behind him, he caught sight of Aza and Rowan standing side by side before Ser Alliser. Rowan was speaking from what he could see, probably informing Thorne the current state of the rangers. Aza didn't seem happy, her eyes looked elsewhere and her expression stoney.

"Why did you give Ser Alliser the position of First Ranger, My Lord?" Satin had finally asked him. Jon expected to hear the question soon.

"It would be deemed favoritism if I gave such a high ranking position to Aza." A half truth. "Not only that, Aza didn't want it." A complete lie. Aza may have not said it to him, but Jon knew she wanted to be First Ranger. He did not need words nor explanation to obviously see how she desired the rank.

"He didn't?" Satin echoed in surprise before his expression morphed into thought. "I see."

Jon smiled, taking a glance at his steward from his shoulder. "You care a great deal for him." Once, he felt something close to jealousy—it was truly envy, he's just too stubborn to admit it—with the way Satin kept close to Aza. It seemed silly once he thought more about it or as Aza would say _"once he brooded over it"_.

"Aza is my brother and my friend. I'd look out for him as I would for you, Lord Commander, and anyone else." It sounded rehearsed, almost as if he had said it before or practiced in case anyone questioned it. "I only knew how much he cared for the rangers and so I thought giving him the leadership would've been wise."

"I understand." Jon nodded before looking back, seeing Alliser giving out his first orders as newly appointed First Ranger. The men followed his command without hesitation, making Jon believe he and Aza made the right decision in the end. However, Stannis' words kept resounding his head; "You have many enemies in Castle Black." Jon had beheaded one and now he had to wait for the boldness of another.

To distract himself from the thought, he changed the conversation. "You're from Oldtown, right? Have any stories about it?" Although he wasn't genuinely curious, it was better than growing paranoid over who would oppose him next.

"I don't think the stories of a boy whore would interest you, My Lord." Jon frowned, knowing that Satin heard the things whispered about him. He didn't seem all that bothered by it, possibly because he heard it many times before. "Oldtown has an extensive history, though. Is that something of your interest?"

"Not truly." History was interesting yet it held no appeal to his mind that sought a precise kind of distraction.

"People of the Summer Isles tend to go there often," Satin mentioned and Jon had no clue if it was purposely or coincidentally, "for trade and to resupply their ships. People of Old Valyria and Old Ghis did the same, many of many years ago. Oldtown has a history of being sacked as well, three times by three different men. Those are the stories most people liked to hear even when visiting a brothel."

Somewhat curious, the Lord Commander paid close attention. "Each time led by one man?"

"Yes, the first man was Samwell the—"

"My Lord." His blood dared to run cold to hear her voice abruptly interrupting their conversation. Jon ceased his steps, turning to looked at the woman who was red from crown to heel. Melisandre was guarded, surrounded by Baratheon men, almost like she was their queen that they direly needed unharmed. "I believe a congratulations is due. May you serve the order of the Night's Watch even if such skills you bear are lost on it."

A slight and a compliment. What was he to make of that? "Thank you, My Lady, but the Watch is not lost."

Her smirk made his lips dip at their corners. "Only you would know, Lord Commander." She then laced her fingers together, head slightly tilted. "Or at least one would hope so."

"Did you have a matter you wished to speak with me, My Lady?" Lacking patience, Jon decided to hurry the conversation along. He was no fool, he knew the woman had a motive. While already knowing that, he was trying to figure out what exactly that it was that she was seeking.

"Another time, Lord Commander." She glanced at the courtyard and he followed her gaze, seeing they had settled on Aza entirely. His jaw locked as he slew his sights to the priestess. "Do not be so wary, ones that burn that fully and that brightly will not come to harm by the hands of others. They usually burn themselves out." With a graceful turn, a flutter of her skirts, Melisandre had walked away.

 **AZA**

"What's your business with the King?" Aza hadn't bothered to make eye contact with him. Instead, she aimed polish her archery. He didn't assign her for mount shifts nor the Wall, possibly because he wanted to grate on her nerves on a more personal scale. "The First Ranger has asked you a question, Aza."

Her eyes slightly narrowed, still choosing to look down at the ground then up at his face. "My business with the King is just what it is; _my_ business with the King."

"And does the Lord Commander know of your secret talks and your exchanges?" It annoyed her that he saw it. Why did Stannis decided to do this in public anyway? If he wanted the map of Winterfell then he should've taken it in private. Why did he want it now where all could see? What was he aiming to accomplish?

"He is well aware," Aza answered, a smirk gracing her face once she looked up to see his annoyed expression.

Thorne took a step closer, towering over her just as he used to back when he thought his height instilled some fear in her. It didn't before and it still doesn't know. "I question where your loyalties lie, Yearling."

"I question where your priorities lie, Ser Alliser. It should be on the rangers and not what I say, give, and do with the King." Heat was coming off him like wildfire. She shouldn't push so much, she knew that he could justly punish her for speaking so little of him due to his rank. Some things, however, just won't change.

"We do not interfere in the politics of the realm or have you forgotten that? Not even the Lord Commander could save you for breaking such a rule." Her hand slowly began to curl due to the realization that he had a point. It wasn't her fault either way, she wouldn't claim responsibility for Stannis making her thin out her vows for him.

So Aza said nothing, choosing silence as her defense. Her eyes had not averted, daring to look straight at him with her expression a controlled nonplussed. Alliser kept his cold and dark eyes on her for a few minutes more until he turned around, letting the ends of his cloak hit her as he walked away.

"Have any of the Wildlings tried to climb the Wall since the battle?" Alliser questioned as all the men stood in front of him, lined up and awaiting for any assignments and orders.

"No, First Ranger," Rowan had answered. "The Wildlings have kept their distance from the Wall since the death of Mance Rayder."

"They won't for long." And how would he know? Aza wanted to ask, but part of her couldn't help but to think it true. If the White Walkers were truly coming then what were the Wildlings to do? They won't sit and die, at least not by the hands of those cold creatures. They'll fight to go south and the Watch would be thrown in another battle again. Jon had to do something… but what? "You've been training these boys, Rowan?"

"Yes, Ser Alliser." Aza wanted to laugh at how obedient Rowan was. She understood why he chose not to fight him because what would be the end result? Some punishment and the same old cycle over and over again.

"You've trained them…" She expected an insult for she wasn't all to sure if Alliser knew how to compliment a person. "Sufficiently." Praise? Oh, this was certainly new.

Rowan looked as if he was not sure whether or not Alliser meant it or was roping him in just to catch him off guard. "Thank you, Ser."

"And who asked for thanks? It's what you're supposed to do." And there it was. Rowan's shoulders stiffened and then loosened once he exhaled. Aza felt sorry she would have to leave him to deal with this all on his own. It was not fair on her part, she realized.

The rest of the day was spent training and he sent people he thought better and more "cooperative" on mount watch. Alliser thought to taunt her as she tried her hand at archery again, just to find that her progress took a worse turn under his scrutiny. When the day was done, she found went down to the library, hoping that she would find herself alone to sit in quiet. She didn't want Jon's kind words because she feared she would regrettably lash out at him. She truly wanted to give Stannis a piece of her mind for making the days unreasonably harder for her, but he is the king and she promised him respect. How would they ever get along if she thought she could run her mouth like a wheel that never stops spinning?

All she wanted was peace and solitude, but once she opened that library door, she found peace without solitude. Sitting at a desk all by her lonesome was the Princess. Her back was facing Aza, so all that she saw was a leaning head buried in a book.

"I won't read until the candles are burned low, Mother." She sounded apologetic, almost as she was afraid her mother would pull her from this place any second now. "I promise."

Unsure of what to say or do, Aza had debated if leaving would be the wiser option. She supposed that when Shireen was not given a reply, she turned her head to wonder if it was really her mother there. When she met Aza's eyes, she stiffened and her face was plagued with fear.

"Don't be frightened," Aza suddenly said, knowing that speaking so abruptly like that wasn't exactly helping. As far as Shireen was concerned, some boy was entering the library and a strange boy was worth fearing for a girl so young. "I am not going to harm you. I thought I'd find myself alone in the library…"

Shireen didn't speak and her eyes refused to leave her. She watched in quiet, a slight cower of her shoulders. What could Aza possibly say now to calm her? If Shireen was smart, she would stay on the alert due to how little she knew of this place and her.

"Are you…" she began to say, "are you the girl my father says will be coming with us?"

So Stannis already told her? Did he tell his daughter everything? Aza found herself a little envious. How she longed for a father in her life so much when she was young. A father who was there and cared; he didn't have to dote on her nor be with her every moment of every day. All he had to do was care.

Fully walking into the library, Aza closed the door behind her with a push of her palm. "Aye, I am."

Suddenly, the girl's persona took a slight shift. Shireen smiled and didn't look so scared and relaxed. "My father said many things about you. Most of it wasn't very nice."

The Summer Islander snorted, crossing her arms across her chest while speaking, "I didn't think he would. He isn't my favorite person either."

"But Davos said nice things," said Shireen as her eyes followed Aza to a seat, which just directly across from her. Her eyes held an inquisitive sheen. "Is he also not a favorite person of yours like my father?"

"At first," Aza leaned back into her seat whilst speaking, "he wasn't. He isn't so bad, I've learned."

Princess Shireen seemed amused just by her smile alone. "My father isn't so bad of a man as well once you understand him. Try to give him a chance when you're willing."

The obvious part was that Aza wasn't willing. She wasn't going to tell Shireen that, of course. "You and your father are close?"

And just like that, her smile had faltered. "No, not really."

Not close with her father and her mother was deemed peculiar. Not only that, she had been scarred by greyscale. _What a pitiful child_ , Aza couldn't help but think.

Rickon was easier for her. Maybe it was because he was a boy she found it easier to communicate with him while Shireen was a princess, raised as a lady, and would soon be the sole ruler to the Iron Throne if her father was truly was meant to have it. "I understand being young and having no one to understand you." Awkward as it was, her determination wouldn't waver. "I'm a stranger and I know it seems… _odd_ to trust me or confide in me, but I am… here, if you need me."

Shireen looked at her, almost a bit taken aback but also bearing contemplation. Whether the silence was her answer or not was unknown to Aza. "I'll… I'll think about it." Not a yes nor a known, just a maybe. A child's trust wasn't something you could necessarily rush, especially at Shireen's age.

"Take as long as you need, Princess." They both exchanged smiles, small and honest. She had done what Davos at asked her. Although if Davos had not come to her with this matter, Aza liked to believe she would still attempt to help the princess anyway.

What was wrong with her as of late? Aza never cared for children, at least not so much to be so protective and concerned about them like this. She pitied children, had always been kinder to them having known how life was for one, but she had never been so active to seek such relationships with them. She was changing, and for what? Her heart was losing its edge and becoming soft, entirely susceptible of hurt and weariness. Aza was never motherly, so why now? Whatever the reason, Shireen was in need of her and Aza did not mind being of use.

 **JON**

Samwell had finally compiled all the letters for him to sign. Each one had a lord or lady's name so that more men could be sent to the Wall. All the Night's Watch had to their order was fifty men and fifty men couldn't even take a handful of Wights. Jon would've rather slept for the rest of the day since he thought it wise to train with some of the recruits during the middle of the day. It shocked them, at first, to see their Lord Commander teaching them to swing their sword and learn when to use their shield. The shock soon wore off and they listened and they learned. Jon had missed that. He missed training with his brothers and swinging the sword without malicious intent. He missed the smell of Summer on him and he's still too young to feel like youth is fleeting.

"Lord Ashford," Samwell had said when the letter was pressed on the desk before him. Jon had signed his name with a quick stroke of his quill. "Lady Coalfield." And another letter to sign. "Lord Smallwood."

With a small furrow of his brow, Jon had realized that most of these names never reached his ears before. Once you really thought of how many Houses, both great and small, were really in Westeros, the world seemed larger than he thought. "Never even heard of these people," said Jon.

"They haven't heard of you either," Samwell's reply nearly made him laugh. It always felt like someone always knew him. _"You're Ned Stark's bastard."_ They would always say when they learned his name. It was always refreshing to meet someone who didn't know who he was. "But we need men and they have some."

"And how many men does Lord Maison have to send us?" Jon inquired, noticing that many of these ladies and lords acted as if they hardly had a man they could send to the Watch. Surely none of these people had a little number of criminals running amok.

Samwell chuckled, taking a glance at the next letter he would lay before him. "More than Lord Weebly." And he placed the letter down to which Jon reluctantly signed.

It went over his head, the way his friend didn't seem all that enthused to place the next letter before him. Jon paid no mind, not even noticing that Samwell hadn't read aloud the name, but as Jon was about to sign his name on the letter, he froze. His blood went cold and Robb's face flashed in his mind as he eyed the name of the lord on the paper. "Not him," Jon declared. At this moment he was not Jon Snow, the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He became Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. He became Robb's brother, half-brother precisely, but a brother who Robb loved and who Jon had loved in return.

"I know, I'm sorry." As apologetic as Samwell had sound, he didn't seem willing to let this matter go. "But we need men and supplies." A reminder that made the ache in his heart spike. "And Roose Bolton is the Warden of the North."

It pained him to hear that. Roose Bolton was only the Warden of the North by name. He was no Stark. He was no Northerner deserving of that title. He is a traitor, a killer, and a thief; a pure-blooded villain. "He murdered by brother." It was to remind Samwell of who Roose Bolton was and what he did and as Jon spoke it, he felt as if he was reminding himself of just how vile the former Lord of Dreadfort is.

"We swore to be the Watchers on the Wall. We can't watch the Wall with fifty men. And we can't get more men without help from the Warden of the North."

Sam was right. He was dutiful and right, justly so. But how? How could Jon sign this letter knowing this? How could he ask the man who killed his brother for recruits for the Watch? And, like it always does, duty makes him do it. Honor in his title as Lord Commander made him give in, relent, and sign the letter. It took a piece of him when that quill had wrote his name.

Feeling like a traitor himself, Jon leaned back into the chair as Samwell gathered up all the signed letters. Jon needed solitude, he needed the quiet, to try to gather himself over what he had done. As Samwell was leaving the tower however, one of the very last people Jon ever wanted to see came sweeping into his room. "Apologies, My Lady." Samwell had asked for pardon while Jon's eyes slowly came to rest on Melisandre, just to see that both Sam and the Priestess had gazed at him.

The woman did warn she would come to see him again. Jon simply hadn't expected for it to be this soon. He gave Samwell a nod, a means to reassure him that he was fine and could handle whatever the witch would throw at him. It almost seemed like he hesitated at first, but eventually Sam left with quickness and Melisandre acted in kind when she closed the door behind him.

Jon sat up straighter in his seat, not wanting the woman to question of what bothered him. He would not confide in her if she did ask, but he did not like to look troubled in front of her. She tends to make him feel worse about things. His mind still keeps repeating what she said about Aza and curiosity and worry wants him to ask what she meant.

"Lord Commander," she greeted him politely as she always has since he earned the position.

"How can I help you?" And as before, Jon returns her politeness.

It had taken some time for her to explain why she came here. "Come with us when we ride South." It wasn't a request, at least it didn't sound like one. His gums sang as he clenched his teeth when she walked to the other side of the room. "None of us know the castle as well as you do. Its hidden tunnels, its weaknesses, its people. Winterfell was your home once. Don't you want to chase the rats out of it?" Once finished, she turned to look at him and he felt uncomfortable under her stare.

Melisandre did not lie. He did know so many things about Winterfell. He knew hidden tunnels, he knew weaknesses in the gates that protected it, and he knew many of the folks of winter town. Winterfell was once his home, that was true. Castle Black, however, was his home now and he intended to fight for it. "Castle Black is my home now. Night's Watch takes no part in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms."

"There's only one war," the Red Woman made clear, "life against death. Come. Let me show what you're fighting for." She stalked closer and while Jon was determined not to show his blatant distrust, he felt his hand grip tightly to the arm of his seat.

"You're gonna show me some vision in the fire?" Melisandre could fool Stannis with her fire-sights. How she managed to do that was beyond Jon. However, he would prove to her that he was no fool. "Forgive me, My Lady, but I don't trust in visions."

"No visions. No magic. Just life." Melisandre had gotten too close, directly standing before him. Her hands, white and thin, had reached to open up her robe.

Jon's hand shot up, grasping then to stop her. "What life hides underneath your robes that you feel the need to show me? Your advances, My Lady, are unwanted."

Her lips, painted red like her hair but deep and dark like blood, had created a smirk. A smirk he's a little tired of being given by her. She always does that when she thinks he knows something that he doesn't. Unfortunately, Jon thinks she does know things that she has no business knowing. Her hands, still hovering over the little she had undone of her robe, takes one hand and places it over her heart. Her heart… he could strangely feel beating through her clothes. "Do you feel my heart beating? This power in you, you resist it, and that's your mistake. Embrace it." Tugging his hand away, not wanting to harm her while eager to be free of her, his eyes slightly narrowed. What was she getting at? What was her motive? He could never know with her. "The Lord of Light made male and female. Two parts of a greater whole. We are joining this power. Power to make life, power to make light, and power to cast shadows."

"I already reside in another's shadow." Jon made clear, moving his face away when her hand dared to come near it.

Melisandre rose a curious brow. "You think her to be the sun, Lord Commander?"

"You said it yourself," replied Jon, not a bit unwavering, "she burns brightly and fully. There's nothing that burns brightly nor as fully as the sun. The only thing that could harm the sun is itself, not any breathing man."

It nearly made him smirk at the way she seemed so furious. Had it not been the sudden chill of Autumn's wind coming from out his door, he would not have known. His head turned and his eyes rested upon brown eyes that were not without rage.

The Lord Commander frowned, quickly, knowing how compromising this would all look to Aza. It terrified him most that Aza remained quiet and still at the door, glaring at them both as if she could set them both afire from her eyes alone.

Melisandre held no fear as she gazed over her shoulder. "A childish notion to think that he belongs only to you." The witch may have been without fear but was she without sense, too? All she was doing was fanning the flames. "He belongs to more than just you. It is all of us that belong to R'hllor and one should not be tied to no man for R'hllor is a jealous god."

He wasn't sure why Aza wasn't saying or doing anything. He nearly flinched when she suddenly smiled for it was entirely saccharine. "I wonder how King Stannis would feel to find you here? Robes nearly undone and seducing the Lord Commander." _Strange_ , Jon thought. Aza did not run and tell, so why was she threatening Melisandre this way?

" _Or_ …" Her laugh was mocking, her smile not withering by an inch. "How would King Stannis feel when I give him your corpse, Lady Melisandre? Did you see yourself impaled by my Flyssa in your visions? If you want, I can bring you closer to your god by gifting you to him."

Immediately, Jon stood on his feet, blocking Aza's way as her hand was tightly wrapped around Flyssa's handle. She stumbled a bit, head hitting his chest, and he could hear her only the verge of hissing in rage. The Halfhand named her right, she was a shadowcat, and if you did not move fast enough then someone would have her claws deep in them.

"If you kill her, Stannis would have your head." And there would be nothing that Jon could do to stop him. Who was to say that Stannis would believe Melisandre tried to seduce him? "If you want to be angry then be angry with me. It is my fault for not sending her away sooner." It made him sound weak, like he could easily lose faithfulness if any woman should stand before him.

"And who says I'm not angry with you?" Her fury had burned with a dangerous intensity. Since he had argued with her and been the source of her ire plenty of time, he doesn't worry and waits for the storm to abate. But this time is different. Her fury is losing its heat and becoming cold, bitterly cold. Its a slow burning rage that if he isn't careful, it could threaten everything.

"I think you should leave, My Lady." Aza scoffed at his choice of words for her. Her hand continued grasping Flyssa's handle as the both of them watched Melisandre fix her robes and begin to make her way towards the door.

Once opening it, the Red Woman stood at the doorway and turned to look at him, uttering words he never thought he'd hear again. "You know nothing, Jon Snow." Jon had gone rigid as the door shut close behind Melisandre's form.

Aza, however, didn't seem to care how Melisandre knew Ygritte's favorite saying. Maybe it hadn't surprised her since the woman repeated things once told to her by a woods witch. "Aza," he sighed her name, hoping and somewhat praying, she would at least hear him out. She's stubborn and if she believes something then there's no real use trying to prove it otherwise. Still, Jon is always crazy enough to try.

His hand reached out to touch her, but she slapped it away. "Don't touch me!" shouted Aza, finally letting go of Flyssa and settling to cross her arms over her chest. Her feet took some steps away from him, just to lead her towards the window. She hadn't left, which she could've, so there was still some hope to reason with her. "Within a fortnight, I march on Winterfell with Stannis." She wasn't aware that he had already known that. "Stannis will need me, we must strategize our way into Winterfell using all the information you have given to us." Melisandre hadn't known about the map? Or did she know and still wanted to change his mind? "I'll have less time to see you."

His nod was slow, full of understanding amidst the hurt. What he wanted more than anything was to spend the last two weeks with her. Half of him wasn't sure if her anger about this situation would keep her away or because Stannis was really demanding of her time. Winterfell was no stroll away although it wasn't far. Nevertheless, it was best to be prepared than to march into battle blindly. "I understand," he replied, "as long as the nights are meant for me."

Aza was trying her best to be stoic. Jon was the first to see how she handles embarrassment and know its well. One of her methods is shielding her face with her hands. They've slept together and know things no one else does about one another yet she still pools heats in her face over the simplest of words that lovers exchange. She's supposed to be angry with him and yet she's looking at him from the corner of her eyes, lips wobbling as she fought not to smile.

Deeming it safe, his careful steps brought him closer until he was standing beside her. For a moment, she tried to escape him until he caught her by the arm and pulled her just a few inches close. There was defiance in her brown eyes, almost to say that she has not forgiven him yet. "I wish you were ugly." That… He hadn't expected for her to say that.

"What?" For the life of him, he couldn't understand what made her tell him such a odd wish. "Why would you wish me ugly?

"So that I'm the only one who will want you," boldly declared Aza, eyes looking only at his own. He had half a mind to think her crazy. That's what they thought of one another majority of the time. That something had came and possessed them from doing a fool's dance of falling in love with each other. "So that no one even looks in your direction." Jon had never known Aza to be possessive, only jealous. She would lie to him and say she wasn't jealous of Ygritte's affections for him although he became increasingly aware over the course of time. It was even more obvious now due to her frustrations with Melisandre.

"And if I were to wish you ugly so that eyes didn't stare when you're near?" He had done his best to lose all sense of envy for Satin's feelings. It still didn't flare in little spurts whenever he thought of it.

The genuine smile that he could evoke from her made face light up. "Who stares when I'm near?" Of course she would be curious to know. "Perhaps I should seek them out?" She could barely finish the sentence without laughing at his disgruntled expression.

"You ought to watch what you say to your Lord Commander." A playful threat, one did Aza knew better than to take serious. Roughly, Jon pushed her against the wall to claim her mouth in a searing kiss.

* * *

 **A/N** : I never did think I would miss Aza speaking lowborn. I feel _just_ a bit rusty with it since it has been so long. It's gonna be necessary in the new few chapters, though. Also, has anyone seen Dareon's GoT wiki? He's a cutie and I'm angry he isn't shown more. The next chapter won't take this long, I promise. In fact, I'll say you'll be reading it _very_ soon. There will be lots of action/fighting and changes; canon-divergence galore.

Guest: Since I tend to keep to the books concerning the Night's Watch ( due to the fact I added Satin, Daeron, Donal Noye and probably some more in the future ), many of them don't have beards. Not all men do anyway. Some men have a natural baby face due to genetics, so it isn't so bizarre that she doesn't have one. It would be assumed that she shaves as well. She's also from the Summer Isles and they aren't known to be hairy people like many other races. Men also aren't all built the same, some men even have what is considered a feminine-shaped body and black makes you appear slender anyway. Not to mention, they wear several layers of clothes and even armor; that should hide her curves well enough. Like all women who had posed as men among men like the famous Mulan poem, Elisa Bernerström, and many more real women, they just dealt with menstruation more swiftly. Medieval-time speaking, women made pads out of scraps of fabrics and rags, cotton was preferable since wool is itchy and because men wear small clothes - she has luck on her side there - instead of a shift. Also women during those times had less periods due to malnutrition, too much hard work that strained the body, and not enough body fat. Nutrition is not key in the Night's Watch due to them being relatively poor, so I would say she has realistically suffered from some of this as well, but when she does bleed I would have she washes her own bloody small clothes before handing them off to the Stewards. Since I never really wrote her dealing with it, I could've always teased about things going missing during certain times a month. It's not that unbelievable or difficult for a woman to hide among men; real women have done it, so I hope that answers your questions. c:

BloodyWolfWarrior: I'm glad you loved the chapter. It was fun to write.

kate langdon: There's nothing an author likes reading like seeing a ship they made gives a reader life. I'm wiping real tears.

pikapyon: I know these last couple of chapters I have been super slow with updates, but I'm getting back on track! That was almost not in the chapter. lmao. And then I did it again but phrased different. Huehuehue.

I actually was unsure about his last pov and almost thought to scrap it, but I see a lot of people enjoyed it. Ahh, I'm glad you said that because a lot of times I wondered if I dragged/went too slow with it. I hate rushed relationships and that's why I took my time with her saying she loved him. I wanted her comfortable and fully meaning it. I almost thought to make it tragic, but I couldn't even do that myself. I know what you mean, but I found less mary/gary-stus ocs and just the portrayal of canon characters that... that turned me away. I've read some Jon fanfics lately and I can see why people say it is hard to read some of them because they've completely changed him. I don't really fault them though. Canon characters are hard to keep in canon... even though what I read it was just blatantly changing him to fit their ideals. I'm glad and I'm sad that she's gonna struggle again. Alright, I'm not sad because I'm eager writing her redefining her strength, and maturing.

Most definitely. The next couple chapters are the one I'm excited for you all to read.

Guest: Thank you!

minstorai: Oh, wow! I made you respect the man that became the most hated man in the fandom during season five! I admit... I actually really like Stannis, but the book version and not the show. I feel the show couldn't really explore all the things that would've made him a good king because that's too much time they didn't have and I don't understand why the sacrifice of Shireen was necessary? Honestly, I wondered if people would think it was too out of character for her not attempt to attack him. That's just a glimpse of Aza understanding she literally can't fight everyone and then she quickly retracts with her jealousy over Melisandre because her goal is Jon's happiness and safety while putting her own on the line. Lmao. What? Who said that? Jon is the Promised Prince? What gave you that idea? ;))))))))

God, I really loved writing that because writing Rickon's perspective is so fun, even though I always write a little since there isn't much growing and exploring during this time for him. He'll have longer povs soon and I get to write how I always envision him to grow to be. I'm glad you loved it because I honestly can't see him handling things maturely at all either. I never once thought he would be able to handle it. I guess I just really like the idea that Jon is the mature one and he's the complete adult compared to Aza and Rickon who are a bit stunted in emotional growth. I'm dying "Jon and I feel the exact same way about this prophecy." It'll be worth all the fuss, I promise you. No pun intended btw. I missed writing Tormund and I honestly almost scrapped that entire scene, but I see it was worth it now. People should romanticize the sun more. Forget the moon, it's all about the sun now. #LovetheSun2017

I'm going to miss writing about the Watch for Aza. Actually, I think the most I will miss her interacting with her boys. Though there's one she'll stay in touch with. Wait until the next chapter because it feels pretty final with her leaving. Woo, boy. That's going to be a mess. ( making the dead deader than dead - superdead at this point. Yikes about the Night King though and all that I have in store for him ) Lots of potential is going to be put to use, trust me. I bet people are a little afraid for Shireen though. I never did promise her being safe. Just kidding, I think it's pretty obvious. There's one cool option that I'm going to use her handling his loss I can't say since spoilers.

Very true because the torture feels good and worth it at the end... if used right. Haha, it just means that the story was worth it! It's a huge compliment for me. Now I have someone to share the excitement with me. Missandei and Daenerys look so beautiful in black. It literally makes me want to shed a tear in happiness. I'm more excited about Arya though because the preview literally made me scream.

Kelly: Oh my god, really? Just imagining Jon literally looking everywhere for her and literally bothering everyone is so adorable to me. I'm dying. It all comes back to Osha and there's nothing Aza can to say to prove it's not true because Edd would've believed it because why else would he think she wanted to see them that bad? I'm crying. Lmao. I'm loving how invested you are because that was a good laugh. You would not believe the actual part she plays int he battle to come because it's going to be super crazy and I'm half shocked at myself for choosing this route.

There's always gotta be some snark between them. Can you believe I almost wrote "yeah?" after that? I swear Aza's mannerism are effect me now. Jon will always be my favorite bastard too! ( I still love Gendry though. Where is he? When will he stop rowing his damn boat? )


	17. Chapter 16: Hardhome

**AZA**

Rickon's progress surprised her. As she tried to teach him with what she thought to be a light spar, she realized that he had been doing some of his own experiments with the Falchions. He had picked up on Jon's grace when he strikes, his arms move in a flow that's steady, completely controlled. She is still able to block them, but he had learned to attack in succession thus letting them create a rapid sound of clanging swords that echoes in the courtyard. All he simply lacked is the stamina to keep up with her, but he's young and still learning. His body isn't used to the strain yet and when it is, Aza can tell he'll be a force to be reckoned with.

For now, she parried easily, batting away each blade he strikes, even when he plays the speed of them. Rickon chose slow and then suddenly fast, more or less to confuse her. Flyssa batted away each blade, slashing quite shallowly at his midsection to show he left himself too open and vulnerable. To her surprise, he twisted out of the way, bringing one sword up smoothly. Aza spun out of reach so that Rickon's swords had only met air.

"Impressive," she complimented him with a smile. Rickon suddenly beamed but then quickly wiped the look away, almost to say that he would not be joyful that he managed to show such a display of improvement.

"There's a few things wrong I haven't fixed yet." Her nod was slow and understanding. "Could you right my pivots?"

He had become eager to learn, eager to perfect even the slightest of mistakes. Before he would get so frustrated that he was ready to throw the swords on the ground or get blunt and rude. He changed and over such a short course of time? Aza had wanted to ask what brought it on, but she felt it would discourage him if she pried.

Using Flyssa's sharp tip, she pointed on the ground where his foot should be and drew a line of how far he should move it. Rickon studied it and repeated the pivot over and over until he was sure he could remember it.

Once prepared, he sliced at her laterally with one sword and the other moved in tandem to twist behind him. Aza swiftly blocked and moved her sword around and up, giving herself the leverage. With quick thinking, he stepped back and shifted his grip after a moment. She aimed to jab twice and then three times, putting Rickon on the defensive. As if he saw the flow of her strategy, he alternated hands while blocking, the last of his jab catching between a cross of blades. He tried to twist Flyssa out of Aza's hands, but with a pivot and an upward pull, Aza freed her sword.

"Your biggest fault is your impatience, Asher." He was about to say something yet chose not to, closing his mouth almost immediately. Was he going to protest or agree? She was curious to know until she saw him lower his swords and look at someone else.

Slowly, she followed his gaze to see Shireen sitting on the steps, observing the training recruits and rangers. She seemed bored and out of place, almost as if she had nothing else to do. Aza supposed the books didn't demand her attention now and so she sought it elsewhere.

As if she knew she was being watched, Shireen met her gaze and she soon smiled. Her hand, small and gloved, slowly raised to wave. Aza had waved back before curiously looking over her shoulder at Rickon, who seemed unamused. "Do you not like the Princess, Asher?" Aza asked.

"I don't dislike her." There was sincerity in his answer. "She just makes me feel…"

"Sad?" With an eyebrow arched, she watched the way Rickon nodded quietly, lips pursed. He pitied Shireen and so he kept his distance from her because isn't sure how to deal with it. It made sense and she hadn't fault him for it.

"That should be no reason to avoid her." Stabbing some of Flyssa's tip into the ground, she leaned on the sword and let out a sigh. "Don't you wish to make her less sad? I do. We ought to get acquainted for she will be coming with us once we take you back home."

"What I really want to keep practicing," the young Stark insisted, "but you seem tired."

Was it that noticeable? Jon was hardly to blame for her lack of sleep. Her anxiety about fighting the Boltons were starting to keep her awake, wondering if they could actually take Winterfell from their bloody hands. It left her restless, unbearably restless. Perhaps she should relent and ask for the Nightshade.

"I'm going to see the Maester." With a yank, she placed Flyssa back where it belonged, which was across her back. Rickon nodded understandably, face pinched when she tousled his hair as a means to say goodbye. His little grunts and swords cutting air were loud enough for her to hear until the distance between them became greater.

Heading to Aemon's stout and wooden keep wasn't much of a walk and it hadn't surprised her to hear Samwell's voice from the other side of the door. She missed him, missed talking to him and sharing laughs over Jon's naïvety. Unfortunately, their duties would rather keep them apart and bring them together under stressful situations.

She knocked twice and heard Tarly fumbling around before he reached the door and opened it. His smile was bright as he ushered her in. Aza kept her stride slow and lazy as she walked in and heard the door shut close behind her.

"It has been some time since you've last came to visit me," said Aemon, who looked more pale and more frail since she saw him last. Her smile struggled to stay in place since the thought of him dying so slowly like this had saddened her.

"I apologize, Maester," she said with her head low. "I wish I came to see you more often."

"You had your reasons." And still he was kind as he always was. "Come here," he ushered, hand motioning for her to to come closer, "sit. I know you have something on your mind." It was somewhat annoying how he knew things like that. It was twice as annoying that he could hear a lie despite the effort put into it to make it convincing. Samwell dragged a chair over, making sure there was a comfortable spacing between her and the Maester. Mouthing a thank you at Sam, she took the seat while Aemon's head turned in her direction. "What troubles you?" he didn't hesitate to ask.

"Many things, Maester." Many things she could not say although she trusted him. Although he never gave her a not to, she knew that some things were better left unsaid. "What troubles me most is restlessness," she admitted anxiously, "I can barely sleep. All my troublesome thoughts leave me during the day just to bother me at night."

His hand, wrinkled and white, had took hold of one of hers. "And why do you think that is?"

She hadn't thought of why because it hadn't made sense to. As she tried, right now, she couldn't come up with anything. "I don't know," she replied in defeat, "I've tried to think of the answer and I keep coming up with nothing each and every time."

"Samwell," Aza glanced up at Sam, who quickly shuffled his way towards them, "could you let Aza and I speak alone?"

Quick to heed the Maester's order, Samwell spoke a quick yes and made his way out of the keep. Aza knew that he thought to use this time to spend it with Gilly. Once it was just the two of them, the Maester took one of her hands. It was surprising and a little confusing, but she did not think to take her hand away. "You remind me of someone I knew when I was young and vibrant." She smiled at his words, curious of who he was speaking of. "And handsome, I can't forget that."

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't suppress the chuckle that left her. "Sure, you were young, vibrant, and handsome. Women fell to their knees at the sight of you, yeah?"

"I wouldn't say that but being a Targaryen during my youth made women like you more, even if you were a sore sight." She believed that. The way most Westerosi spoke of them, you would think the Targaryens in their prime were gods among men. Well, more like the ones who rode dragons were while the dragonless generation was still looked highly due to the old and great glory they had. "She was—"

"She?" Aza echoed, interrupting him from saying more.

"Your hands, calloused as any man who has wield a blade all of his life, have a certain softness about them. Even I, who sees nothing but darkness, can surely catch sight when a woman has entered a throng of boys and men."

Nervous, she was at a complete loss in what to say or do. "You always knew," she found herself muttering.

"Of course," he said with a half-grin. He knew and he let the Watch keep her. Her hand had tightened her hold on his as a means to convey unspoken gratitude. "And I know the mutual affections between you and our newly Lord Commander." At this point, Aza wanted to ask him if there was anything he didn't know. "I even once told Commander Snow that love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

It worried her, for a moment, that he was going to berate her because she had somehow "corrupted" Jon Snow. Her hand flinched at the thought and he must've felt it because his hold only became tighter. "But what is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."

"You are saying that love is making me restless, Maester?" Her head did a slight tilt, her brows slightly bowed.

"It is because you love that you have many restless nights." If she loved less or not at all, would things change? Could she even do that? She was in too deep to ever go back. "I've always said you had a kind heart, Aza. A person with such a heart will always face many hardships."

Confused and tired, Aza sluggishly shook her head. "Then what do I do?"

"You accept yourself." The answer sounded strange and simple. "You deny your kindness, you question it and you wish for it to disappear. You have yet to come to terms that you are kind, you are loving, and you wish to fiercely protect what you care for. You are fearful of the person you are growing to be. You have grown, Aza. Summer is Summer; you, yes, are a child of it and it thrives in you, but you extend beyond Summer. You must let the Summer go. You must not deny yourself of your growth."

Aza wanted to be ignorant. She wanted to not let the pieces of what he was saying come together and make full sense. Traces of the past would not leave her, for some reason or another. Too much change felt scary to her, especially since she could barely comprehend the changes. The sigh she let out was long and comforting, almost as comforting as Aemon's hand holding her own.

"I understand." Somewhat at ease, she smiled warmly. He couldn't see it, but the smile he gave her in return made her feel as though he felt it. "Thank you, Maester."

"It does an old man well to know there are still some things I'm good for." His nod was slow and sure. "Now," he shifted in his seat, taking his hand away from hers, "is there anything else I can help you with?"

With a shake of her head, Aza combed through her fringe for a moment. "You said that I reminded you of someone you once knew. You were going to tell me about her."

"Ah." His smile was wry. "I think it is best if I don't. I, too, have memories I wish to forget and now that I have gave counsel to your troubles, I'm finding myself wishing to be free of thoughts of her."

Normally, she would've been aggravated because she'll become overly curious of who this woman was. Had it not been the fact that she suffered from memories she wished to be kept stored away in the far reaches of her mind, she would've lost patience and empathy. "Until next time then," she settled.

"Until next time," he repeated and her heart felt a painful tug. Why did it feel like next time would never come?

 **JON**

He had the tendency of making decisions that made the utmost logical sense without thinking out the practicalities of it, most if not all the time. However, this meeting of trying to bring the Night's Watch together for this momentous decision, had went utterly left. Jon hadn't expected it to go completely in his favor in the first place, but to be met with this amount of disapproval? This much lack of reasoning? It was almost unforeseeable to him for it to end up as horribly as it did. He already gone through with decision and so there was no going back now.

Even if he could, Jon was too stubborn to renege on the promise he made with Tormund. He must do it, just like Aemon encouraged him to. He has to see this through. He had to see it through right to the very bitter end despite what his brothers might think or feel. They could hate him all they wanted but at least they would be alive whilst feeling their hatred for him. They could not give the dead more men in their army and they could not fight the dead with only fifty men. The letters they had sent had done nothing for them. Nobody believed the Wights and the White Walkers were real. They sent him mocking words instead of men to fight.

He finally took a seat at his desk, face buried in his hands as he tried to rid himself of all thoughts of the insurmountable pressures that were thrust upon him. This was what he wanted, he sorely realized. When he dreamed a day to become Lord Commander, he did not think of all the hardships that would come with it and all he had to go through just to earn it. He only thought of the title and the glory, how was he ever to know that creatures of the dead were real and were the inevitable threat to all of mankind? Most of all, how was he supposed to know that he was destined to fight them and that he was to lead men into the battle against them?

A knock, short and stiff, was at his door and he was half tempted to tell whoever it was to leave. "Enter," he said the opposite of what he wanted to say. The words had spilled out of him without warning nor care of his stress and the entire mental exhaustion that claimed him.

The door creaked as it was pushed open as his hands dragged down his face so he could properly see who came to bother him. It was Olly, holding a tray of sup. That was Satin's duty to retrieve his meals, but Olly took his place at the moment. The boy placed the food on his desk very stiffly and Jon was aware of why he was behaving as he was.

"Thank you." Before Jon would dare to pry, he thought to at least show his gratefulness that Olly had done something not of his station. "Olly." The boy stopped, standing several paces away from the door. "If you have something you want to say to me, say it. It's all right."

"You don't mean it, do you? Telling the Wildlings you want to make peace." Olly held him some sort of high regard, he realized. "You're just doing it to trick them," he said, explaining a thought process Jon hardly expected.

"It's not a trick," Jon honestly put it.

There it was, the shadow of grief and vengeance that would casually slip on the boy's face. "They burned my village," he reminded Jon. He knew the story, pitied Olly for it, and kept him close because the boy was the same age as Bran. It did not change the fact that the Free Folk were still needed. "They put an arrow through my father's head right in front of me. They butchered my mother, everyone I ever knew."

"I know what it's like to lose the people you love," Jon softened his tone, being sincere and trying his best to send his message across, "I know this is hard for you but Winter is coming. We know what's coming with it. We can't face it alone."

The boy looked at him with a fierce expression before it melted in a stoic, subservient mask. "Will there be anything else you need, Lord Commander?" he asked monotonously.

"No." He would not try to convince the boy again. He let him go and sighed, wondering how much of a monster he must look to him.

Just a few more days and Stannis would leave and within those days, he would have to sail with Tormund to Hardhome with Stannis' ships. Who was to say that he could convince the remaining Wildlings to willingly come with him? What if they refused him? What would he do then? It would mean he created friction in the Order all for nothing.

Three knocks and then the door roughly flew open. He knew very well who would be so bold. He should be reprimanding her for not attending the meeting and he was more than sure that some of their brothers had noticed it. Everyone, even the King and Davos Seaworth were there themselves, but Aza was blatantly absent. He learned from Satin that she was with the Queen and that her put her in a rather tough position to exit from.

It did not come as a surprise when she slammed both her hands on his desk. She was smoldering underneath her stony expression. "Have you gone mad?" she snarled more than she spoke.

He knew, right away, that she had been caught to speed of what had went on during her time with Queen Selyse. And just like everyone else, she was here to stand opposite of him. Aza was unforgivably opposing his idea; his last resort.

It hurt, he could admit that it very much did, to know the very person he thought wouldn't oppose his plan was doing the very thing he thought they wouldn't do. Disappointment had flooded him. Consumed him. "What else would you have me do, Aza?" Tired and defeated, that's exactly how he sounded to his very own ears.

"Take it back," she said without trying to pretend to give him the luxury of a second-thought. It seemed so simple to her. "Don't go through with it." If he did feel himself weakened by the disapproval of his decision just enough to cowardly pull back, it was too late. He couldn't go back and he wouldn't, not even if Aza begged. As if she knew that he would not relent, she raised her voice another octave. "You're putting yourself in the Stranger's arms and for what?!"

"We will die either way." And that was the hard, cold truth of it. "It doesn't matter if I die or not. It is what must be done."

She had cast her gaze down at the desk, eyes darkening. "You are breaking the very purpose of what the Night's Watch stands for to these men, Jon. To them, the Night's Watch is meant to defend the Wall against the Wildlings. You think our brothers will understand? You are consorting with the enemy in their eyes. They know not of the real enemy for they haven't seen the White Walkers with their own eyes."

Did the Wights arms not convince them just like it hadn't convinced those in King's Landing? But why had she and the others not realize that he was willingly setting aside the grievances of his very own ancestors for this? "I am the shield that guards the realms of men." That's part of the oath that all of them swore, so why did everyone choose to ignore it? What was he supposed to do if this was wrong? Was he supposed to let them sit here and twiddle their thumbs? Let the Wildlings rise again as men, women, and children of the dead? Let them all die without fighting? Die with all fifty men because that's all that is left of the Night's Watch.

"I'm not changing my mind." He wished he added more softness to the finality of his words. Aza's frown had deepened and her eyes averted as if she would rather not look at him. "I don't say that because I don't understand, Aza. I'm saying this _because_ I understand." A sigh escaped him, his hands folded as he laid them atop of the desk. "Understanding and keeping the Wildlings that far North will not keep us alive. It would only kill us."

She said nothing, letting silence fill the room that conversation once occupied. Her shoulders drooped when she fell to a seat. "When will you set sail to Hardhome?" she strained to ask, voice just an increment above a whisper.

"In three days," answered Jon, "we'll be leaving from Eastwatch."

Aza looked as if she pieced some things together. "This is why the King mentioned his ships, he is loaning them to you for this." Jon wondered why Stannis had not mentioned his sail to Hardhome to her. Was it because he assumed she already knew or because he was allowing Jon the luxury of telling her himself? "I'm going to request permission from King Stannis that I go as his envoy to Hardhome."

"His envoy?" Jon didn't understand what she was planning or why Stannis would need an envoy.

"Not all of the Wildlings are like Tormund and Mance, yeah? A good few of them might want to join the King's army and earn themselves a title and some land." Perhaps it was childish of him to think she was going for him. He wondered if his disappointment was obvious on his face but why would that matter? She still won't even look at him.

"What makes you sure that King Stannis will allow you to go?" No man truly ruled Aza, Jon knew that, but because of what was at stake, she did her best to be deferential. Of course, that could all be shaken should Stannis do something that she deemed too unacceptable.

Aza finally lifted her eyes to look at him, her head canted and cupping her palms over her thighs. "What makes _you_ think I am unable to convince him?" she asked him, eyes one inch away from narrowing.

 _Of course_ , he thought, _she would take my words as an insult_. "We both know the King," Jon did his best to clarify what he meant. "We can't ever be sure of what he will and won't agree to."

" _You_ cannot be sure of what he will and won't agree to." Her infamous smirk gradually revealed itself. Removing her hands from off her thighs, she stood up from the seat. "I know what I wanted to know and said what I've wanted to say. I'll be taking my leave." Taking some steps towards the door, he turned his head to look at her.

"Will you return?" She stopped walking, standing several paces away from the door.

Her head kept facing forward. "I do believe the nights are meant for you, Commander Snow." He smiled, only slightly, knowing that she wasn't too cross with him.

 **AZA**

"Your Grace," Aza never knelt in her life and she most certainly did not want to do it now. However, since she knew all that was at stake, she bent the knee before Stannis. "I ask that you send me as your envoy to Hardhome."

Her eyes kept to the wooden floors, not bothering to meet the stern eyes of the Baratheon king. "As my envoy? Why would I need an envoy sent to Hardhome?" he asked, not giving her indication of his anger if he felt any by the request. He was sizing her up, trying to understand her motive before she spoke it.

"May I stand?" Stannis nodded, allowing her to stand up straight before the wooden floor made her knee sore. Adjusting her cloak, she looked to the seat that was before his desk before looking at him. He didn't give her any sign or gesture for her to sit, so she hadn't bothered to even ask. "You need more allies while I know that getting through to the Wildlings from Mance was a failure, I do believe you have a second chance."

"And what makes you so sure of that?" That was one thing she admired about Stannis, he was very blunt. Very frank about a person's intentions. Most people wanted to play a game, but Stannis wasn't fond of them just like her.

Aza mulled over and over how she was going to present this to him. She had to make the idea sound so favorable that he would allow it. She could not be a melodious as the Red Priestess who supposedly saw things in the fire and she had no pull to make the Wildlings listen to her without a dispute. This was entirely based on chance.

"I know the Wildlings," she began, "and I know some of them would rather be of their own thinking than following another man. They followed Mance because he promised them freedom, but what Mance did not provide them was security. As your envoy, I will promise them lands and titles, something that I think many of them would gladly raise their axes and swords for you. I would hope that you would follow through with such promise, though. I do not take either one of us as a liar."

The king nodded, understanding that much, and he looked at her in a way that demanded for her to continue. "The Boltons also know the North more than you and more than I. The terrain is a great disadvantage to us and should snow fall, we will have troubles. The Wildlings know harsh weather and would help us survive it." He nodded once more. "Also… should the travel further North come across any of the White Walkers, I want to see them for myself. I'll see them and return to you any information I can possibly gather before the Long Night approaches."

Tapping his fingers against the surface of the desk. "And what else? You have another reason for choosing to go to Hardhome and delaying my march to Winterfell."

A bit startled that he could see there was more to her plan, Aza let out a defeated sigh. "I bear great worry of my Lord Commander going to Hardhome."

"Do you fear he will not return?" There are a great many things that she feared. Regardless, she would not Stannis know that. "Do you fear it because of the White Walkers or the Wildlings? Perhaps you fear it because his own men might turn on him." Tightening her jaw, her eyes dared to look away. "Even you see the tension that befalls the Watch due to his decision. I warned him and he did not heed it."

"No matter of my personal feelings, I still believe this is the best course of action, Your Grace." Aza hoped she convinced him, at least enough for him to consider it than to pretend that he did.

"My men are all fed and rested, prepped for battle. Every day that I wait, the odds shift in the Bolton's favor…" he explained to her. "This could turn to Winter at any moment. Do you not see the dilemma?"

"I do see it but it has always been in the Bolton's favor. As I've said, they are Northmen. They know the land, they know the weather, and I'm sure they are learning quite a lot of Winterfell with each day they are living in it. We do not know if they will have any Northern lords on their side as of now and thus making them outnumber us. This battle, for us, is based on chance, Your Grace."

The king's eyes held a glint of pride and wrath. Did she wound him? Had she anger him? The last she wanted was to raise his ire so that he became stubborn and foreign to reason. "You were a sellsword before?"

Confused by his question, she nodded while replying; "Yes, I was a sellsword. I belonged to the Red Irons."

"The Red Irons…" Stannis shook his head, expression as if the name of the company left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I'm well aware of the Red Irons. You made quite the coin in King's Landing and then extended yourselves to the Reach and the Northern parts of Dorne." It hadn't shocked her that he had known about them. After all, Queen Cersei thought them capable once. "Did the City Watch catch you?"

Grinding her teeth, she felt an old wound open anew due to his prying. "I wasn't caught, I was given." Just the memory of it all made her mood drastically change. "Does my prior life make you unable to trust me, Your Grace?"

"It does hold some weight," he admitted nonchalantly, "but I've learned not to hold a man's past against him." The Summer Islander arched a single brow, wondering if he was going to give her his permission or not. "What I want to understand is why do you expect me to sit around and wait while you sail further North?"

Her lips pried apart for a remark that would surely sink herself knee-deep in trouble. It was the unfortunate luck that a knock was at his door to which he allowed them entrance. Melisandre had came in, hands hidden in her long sleeves and her eyes resting upon her. "R'hllor warned me that my counsel was needed, Your Grace." Aza doubted it was this _"Lord of Light"_ that gave her this insight.

"I am in need of your counsel," Stannis replied. "It seems that Aza wants to sail with the Lord Commander to Hardhome. She thinks she can persuade some of the Wildlings in becoming our allies. In doing so, she even believes the chance to gain insight of the White Walkers may be possible."

Tightening her jaw, Aza was sure that the Red Priestess would speak against her. For what other reason would Melisandre side with her? After all, Aza did threaten to kill her and she was sure that would come back to bite her. "She means to delay the attack on Winterfell?" Melisandre gathered to which Stannis only gave a nod as answer. "I approve."

"What?" The word slipped as she was too unable to keep her shock inward.

Melisandre looked at her from the corner of her eyes. "No army is never not in need of more men and once you dangle title before a man, it is rare to see one who would dare say no." It was scary how she was knew that. How could she possibly guess that Aza would use title and land to persuade them? Did the Lord of Light truly tell her that or was that a wildly good guess?

"And what of the snow?" asked Stannis. "Should we not be wary of Winter?"

"Winter will come as it pleases, My King." Aza glanced over at the king, who looked as if he needed more convincing. "I told you there would be a great battle in the snow and you saw such for yourself."

It was slightly agonizing to sit there in that awkward silence as Stannis mentally debated on whether or not he agreed to it. Shifting awkwardly where she stood, Aza watched Melisandre, who remained unbothered and patient. "I consent to this idea. I will stay behind until your return and once you do, we make our way to Winterfell."

Relieved, Aza bowed her head. "I will not disappoint, Your Grace."

"You ought not to." Nodding despite her aggravation over the not-so subtle threat, Aza left without a word. It was only by the fifth step that she keened her ears to hear the sound of footsteps following behind her. Once she took another step down the tower's stairwell, she turned around at Melisandre, standing only three steps behind.

"Why did you help me?" It may have been presumptuous on her part to believe Melisandre helped her. What if there was some motive that Melisandre had? What if she had manipulated this situation in her favor somehow?

The woman's visage changed for a split second and Aza could barely comprehend it because it smoothed back to a calm canvas. "The Lord of Light has a fixation on Jon Snow," she answered, being honest from what Aza could tell. "He keeps showing me the Lord Commander in the fire and even I cannot understand why."

"Do you think something will happen at Hardhome? You want me to go and when I return, I shall tell you should any strange thing occur?" asked Aza, wondering what it was that Melisandre hoped to gain. It was already bothersome enough that Melisandre's curiosity or fascination—whatever it bloody well is—on Jon Snow had not ceased.

She descended a stair, causing a frown to mar Aza's features. "I did not wish to take Jon Snow away from you, at least not in the matter of which it seemed." An explanation? Aza hadn't expected that. The woman seemed as if she did not take kindly to explaining herself for any person and for any reason other than to her god. "There is a power in Jon Snow and I wonder if you know it, too. He ignores it and I believe it is something that is best discovered."

A power in Jon? It may have been her own bias that made Aza be so inclined to believe it. "And you hoped to discover his power by fucking him, yeah? Just how does one do that?" Aza questioned, wondering how the woman was going to answer it.

"It's a suspicion that I have and it was the only way to prove it. I also wanted to know if he could be so easily weakened." Aza felt somewhat bitter, mostly towards herself. She almost believed, for a moment, that Jon would succumb to weakness for a moment. Even a woman as red and beautiful as Melisandre had been denied by him. Was it faithfulness or perhaps honor and duty? Was it so wrong of her to question it? It certainly felt wrong and she hated herself for being so insecure. Aza turned around to continue down the stairs since her curiosities will not be met with answers. "Jon Snow does not see the danger around him." The Summer Islander froze, her foot hovering over the next step. "You know of it as well." Melisandre's pale and slender hand came to rest on her shoulder and it flooded her with discomfort.

"Who is the danger?" she found herself asking.

Melisandre said nothing, only sliding her hand off Aza's shoulder before continuing her way down the stairs.

 **JON**

There was no need to pack heftily as they did for the Great Ranging or when they traveled to kill the mutineers and free their hostage brothers in Craster's Keep. Hardhome wasn't much of a sail away from Eastwatch and he didn't suspect that they would be away for very long. If he had to estimate when they would return, it would probably be by the next full moon. They did not have time to waste and nor did Jon want to raise the King's ire.

It seemed strange that Rickon demanded to go. Jon wanted him to remain in Castle Black, thinking it was the wiser decision but Rickon could not continue to be coddled. What was he to learn North of the Wall? Jon barely knew yet he thought it might be helpful if his little brother when since one he was acknowledged as the Lord of Winterfell, he would have a stronger position in protecting the Wildlings. Young as he was, Rickon had to learn the politics of it all and there was nothing to learned by having him twiddling his thumb until he returned.

It was a bitter realization when he finally noticed that he was never gifted in how to pack. Jon had no real idea of how to fold his clothes neatly and squarely as they should be. For a moment, he was reminded of the last moments he spent with Arya as he looked down at his sloven work. He fondly remembered how Septa Mordane had made his little sister repack all her clothes because she had done in a rush. It was all so sloppy and careless. No one would really care if he didn't pack as he should for men like them did not care about neatness or the perfect order of simple clothing. They didn't even have ironwood chests either like his family did. The Watch packed their things in bags because they are easier to carry and obtain.

The tower door creaked open from upstairs, making him stop his packing. He listened to the footsteps and looked to the stairs to see who was descending them. It was Aza, who looked entirely exhausted as of late. He wondered if he was to blame for her lack of good rest, but all the events that had unfolded the past two years made him sleep deprived himself. It became worse since he was named Lord Commander due to all that rested on his shoulders.

Aza made her way over to him, fully up close to his very obvious mess as she stood at his side before his featherbed. At first, she simply looked before lifting her eyes up to look at him. "What in Seven Hells is this?" She pointed at the bag and his clothes, face completely showing her apparent disgust. "Didn't anyone teach you how to pack?" Embarrassed as well as annoyed, Jon looked at her from the corner of his eyes and back at his bag.

"It isn't that important," he stated in efforts to defend himself, "and I doubt I'll need these extra clothes anyway."

"Move," Aza groaned, shaking her head as she nudge him out of the way with her elbow. She pulled out every single one of his tunics, breeches, smallclothes and cloak. All the essentials he put in, she pulled out and threw back on on the bed. He watched how she folded each item of clothing in the perfect set of squares, showing some sort of domestic perfection he never thought she could possibly possess. Jon stood there, stunned, but his shock soon withered away as he felt himself be flooded with warmth as she placed each item neatly into his bag in an organized fashion.

"How much convincing did it take for the King to agree?" Jon finally asked. Stannis, himself, had came to tell him that he expected his boats to be back in the condition they were given. He wasn't sure what Stannis feared would happen and Jon hadn't put too much thought to it at first.

Aza regarded him with a slight smile. "Not much but I suppose I owe my thanks to Lady Melisandre."

"She helped you?" She nodded, looking still surprised by the fact herself. "You would think she would do the opposite after you threatened to kill her."

"I'm sure she had her reasons for agreeing with me." The woman always had a motive, a reason for doing and saying what she did. "There." Aza looked over her own work, looking quite smug as she watched him look inside his bag. He wouldn't have to rummage for anything seeing that it was entirely organized, making whatever he needed to find easier to grab.

"When did you learn how to pack so neatly?" There had always been a story to some of the skills she acquired. So he didn't see why this should be any different.

"I was bored once when I was just barely training in the Red Irons. They used to give me chores because I was a runt and couldn't do much. I just took the time to learn how to pack. Amazed at how good I am?" Aza lips curved into a grin. "I know, I'm just too perfect for my own good, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, her laugh echoed in the room while he tightened the strings of his bag so everything would stay well within it. "My things are already packed in my cell and Rickon has finished up with his. You know, I'm surprised you're letting him come with us." She laid her cloak on the nearby chair next not too far from the hearth and began unbuckling the sword strap off her back, placing Flyssa by the end table on the opposite of the bed where he stood. He gathered she must've been eager for sleep since she was so ready to get out of her clothes to lie in bed.

"Rickon needs some fresh air and experience. I can't have him unaware of all that goes on around him." From the corner of his eyes he watched as she touched the fasteners of her jerkin, slowly undoing them with her attention seemingly elsewhere. Once she was on the second to last fastener, she glanced over at him.

"Why are you watching me?" The way she looked at him now… You would think she deemed him as some sort of lecher.

"I've seen you naked before," Jon stated in a way that was matter-of-fact.

"That's different!" Aza insisted, clutching her jerkin close to her.

A laugh bubbled out of him, hard to contain and pleasant to release. He needed that. Gods only know how much needed to laugh. "Should I turn around? Will you go upstairs? Perhaps I should cover my eyes?" He can tell she's getting vexed by his playful suggestions.

"Shut up!" she shouted instead before sitting at the edge of the bed, taking off her worn black boots. Every few minutes, she whipped her head to glare at him from over her shoulder. Not understanding why undressing on her own in front of him was such a strange concept, he turned around and listened at the rustling of her clothes as she took them off. Then he heard her bare feet traveling across the room in search for something and looked over to see her slipping a tunic he wore the other day.

Why she chose his own clothes was beyond him. He soon figured it was likely because his clothes were more comfortable since she wore smaller or rather shorter versions of their uniforms due to her height. His own tunic adorned on her had highly shown the inner curves of her breasts, relieved from their bindings, and boldly exhibited so much skin. It covered enough most areas, but little else. She had no idea how much he greatly he enjoyed the effect.

"Why are you wearing my tunic?" Jon asked, curious as to what made her decide to sleep in it. Usually she kept to her smallclothes or had no real choice of clothing since he would strip her nude.

Aza smiled albeit shyly, dark eyelashes fanning across her cheeks. "It has your scent," she admitted nearly through gritted teeth. Even when she tries to be ladylike, she has so much of a bite to it. "And I like the smell of you. I wanted to ask if I could keep it…"

"Only if you give me something of yours." Aza tilted her head in thought, trying to figure out what she could give him from what he could tell. Suddenly, she ran, barefeet softly padding against the floor as she inched to Flyssa and began to undo the ribbon that was always tied onto its leather-wrapped handle.

It was purple, a deep violet and sleek, not bearing as much damage as one would expect it would considering who owned it. Aza was smiling wildly as she presented it to him. "I almost forgot all about this, yeah, but my mother said she wanted to give this ribbon to my father. She never got the chance to, though…" Her smile dimmed, less vibrant and more crestfallen. "So she gave it to me." Unsure of why she was giving him a ribbon of all things, Jon still intended to keep it despite the lack of understanding. "Women give their knights a silk ribbon to mean of a lady's favor. I'm no lady and you're no knight, but you will always have my favor."

Her favor. Jon laughter was sewn into his smile as he continued to look at the ribbon as its value seem immeasurable to him now. "I'll tie it to Longclaw right now." Taking the sword from his sword belt, he began to bind the ribbon right where the handle ended and the wolf pommel began.

"Oh~ It's nice to see some color on you, yeah?" she teased, brown eyes full of happiness. Just a simple gesture like that could have her dimples out and about. "All I ever seen on or even near you was black."

"Black has always been my color." A memory, brief as it was, of him saying almost the exact same words had come across his mind. Not wanting to dwell on such a sad memory, he tried to focus on the conversation at hand. "I've only ever seen you in Wildling furs and black yourself." He tugged at the hem of his tunic that she wore that was a dull beige.

Wrinkling her nose, Aza tried to pinch his hand in order to make him let go of the hem. "The Queen gave me a dress for departure," she told him, now making him understand why she spent time alone with Queen Selyse and missed the meeting. "It's… black…" she sorely remembered. "Baratheon black and not Castle Black… _black_." As he grinned, she frowned and lightly hit his arm as a means to show him she didn't find it funny.

"I never did ask what your favorite color was." It was such a minor thing to know. Colors, that's something that children ask each other.

Aza pointed to the ribbon. "Purple. I always loved that color, even Rickon knows that." She gave him a slight glower, an obvious way of saying that he should've known something like that already. "He even knows the flowers I like."

"Violets?" He remembered seeing them in the infirmary while she slept. It made him wonder why he had once dreamed of her adorning blue flowers—Blue Winter roses to be exact—in her hair while she stood in the crypts of Winterfell.

Aza nodded. "Strange, isn't it? _Me_ , liking flowers, yeah? I'm still a girl, though. I do like some things that many girls like." It was hard to imagine some sort of feminine things like flowers being something Aza fancied. She did not seem like the kind that would pick them and smell them or make them into crowns just to wear them in her hair. How much more about her did he not know? Just when he thought he knew just about everything, he realized he only knew so little.

"There's still some things we don't really know about each other." As if she heard his thoughts, she gave them life by speaking them aloud. "And that makes me sad." Although the tone of her voice matched her words, her lips didn't. She smiled despite there being nothing worth smiling for. "I want to know everything about you, Jon Snow." Her hands reached to his wrist, pulling him onto the bed. "Let's talk all night until I know everything."

"I'm…" He averted his gaze, daring to look elsewhere. "I'm not as traveled as you are. I'm afraid my life has always been rather boring until now." Boring and pathetic is what he really wanted to say. Most of his youth was spent brooding and reading, calling every bit of his life unfair while trying to put some restraint on the jealousy he felt for his older brother. All his young life was spent trying to understand why he had to be a bastard and treated so cruelly.

"What has changed? You're still boring," she teased and he quickly focused his eyes to look at her, just to see her snickering by his clear irritation.

"I'm boring?" Jon rose an eyebrow, challenging her to reaffirm her statement.

Instead of rebutting his challenge with a confident look of her own, it seemed that she quickly realized what exactly he was going to do. Her eyes had gone wide and she dared tried to scoot herself back. "Don't!" she warned him, "Don't you even _think_ about it!" His hands moved on with the plan he had in mind, fingers dragging along the side of her body. When he grasped the hem of his tunic that she wore, he pulled it up inch by overbearing inch, just to expose the lower small clothes she decided to wear and upwards, revealing her stomach.

The look of utter defeat is on her face and he doesn't believe it. She'll try to fight her way out of this, of that Jon is sure. And right before she tried to swiftly react, Jon had dipped down and blew a raspberry right on her belly, gripping her hips tightly so she could not escape the onslaught.

That laugh. That Summer lilting laugh that she shrieked out was all worth it as she threw her head back. She was steadily scheming for some way of escape amidst her laughter but it would all be for naught, though. He was much stronger than her and also too determined to have her submit and let the sound of her laugh be the only reward. "Alright, alright! I take it back," Aza cried out of laughter, twitching and squirming. Only then did he stop, lifting his face from the soft skin of her abdomen where the scar Tormund had given her is but a thin, jagged line atop of her belly button.

He hovered above her, just to see mischief swirling in those brown eyes of hers and before he knew it, her smirk was on full display. She shot her arms forward, digging her fingers into his sides. It was such a poor, stupid weakness and yet a rich and frantic laughter escaped him as he desperately tried to make her stop. Her legs clamped together at his hips, making it difficult for him to escape. With each struggle of trying to grasp her arms, his laughter continued.

"Do you yield, Jon Snow?" spoken with a grin, she continued to loving assault and he had to blink rapidly to stop his eyes from tearing.

"I yield." It was hardly worth being proud over, the fact at how quickly he gave in just as she did. Still, there was not a sound he loved more than to hear them both laughing, breathlessly, and fully acting like the ages they were. They sounded young and without care. It was if all there could be possibly be on their minds was each other and nothing else.

 **AZA**

It saddened her, just how much she has come to realize that she can barely remember being on a boat and sailing at sea. She hasn't been aboard a boat or ship since she was three-and-ten. From the age of seven and until then, she used to smuggle goods taken from snotty nobles for a thieving company until Hadrian found her at the harbors of King's Landing. Even if she did not particularly care the small pay, she used to love the pitch and roll of the boat against the unpredictable and comforting sea. She used to like her feet touching the water with the sun beaming down relentlessly as she waited on the boardwalk. This was different, however. The Shivering sea was nothing like the Summer or Sunset sea, even though it is a sea all the same. This sea looked as if it only wanted to swallow a person whole and freeze them as they drowned.

Sunrise wasn't even beautiful out here. Thick grey clouds were cast over the sky, making the Shivering sea look tainted. While the night made it look like an abyss of black, the taste of day did not make it appear blue. Instead, the waters looked like a dull metallic grey.

"Little Crow," Tormund called her, making her eyes lift away from the sea's surface and up at him. She was in the same boat as Jon, Tormund, Edd and a few others since they left Stannis' ships and boarded the rowboats once they were not so far from land. All of them kept quiet most of the way there while Rickon's head rested against her shoulder, still somewhat tired due to how early he had to wake. "What made you decide to come to Hardhome? Fear I might hurt Lord Crow?"

Aza feared many things but she hadn't feared that. "King Stannis Baratheon wanted me to speak his words as an envoy. I am here to convince them to join the Baratheon army, help him retake the throne, and through that they will earn proper land and titles." She had to consider her words carefully, not to lead any of her brothers to think that she too would leave with Stannis.

Tormund rose a thick, red brow and gave a slight nod. "Land and titles? You think you can win some of them over with land and titles?"

She figured that, but she did not need them all. Just some. Just a good few. "The biggest threat to man isn't the White Walkers, I realized, it's our own pride."

"Pride," Tormund repeated with a grunt, almost as if he found her words offensive. "Is that how you see things? Do you think it is pride that doesn't make our knees bend? That King you're speaking for had killed Mance, dare to have him scorch to death. If it were not for your Lord Crow, Mance would've suffered more than he already did."

"It was Mance that chose to burn!" Aza shouted, still feeling the anger she first felt when she learned Mance chose death over his own son. Dalla's son. "I despise that King Stannis had rather had him sacrificed to some Red God because he refused, but it was Mance's choice. And none of that matters. What matters is that the White Walkers are coming and a strong, united army is the way to survive. The sooner you understand that, the greater the chance of us fighting back with less corpses added to their numbers."

His stare was hard and she couldn't understand what exactly that it was that he was thinking or feeling now. Bickering wasn't what she wanted to do with Tormund, considering she hadn't known when she might see him again as well. Tearing his eyes away from him, she looked forward and saw thousands upon thousands of Wildlings standing on icy tundra ahead. So many lives in peril, so many lives that could turn to Wights, and she had to convince them after all the blood that has been spilled over the years.

Once they docked, she felt glad that her feet had met land again. Rickon seemed happy too, smiling at the wet and muddy ground before he looked up to catch her staring. "Stick close to me, Asher." Aza reminded him to which he wrinkled his nose.

"I won't go anywhere," he muttered, "where will I even go? I know none of them." It was curious thing, how Rickon viewed the Wildlings. He loved Osha, cared for her deeply, and had never been put off by who and what she was. Had knowing her shaped his view of them? Aza never asked, but looking at him now and seeing how he looked more curious than disgusted. He saw them as people and not savages and enemies.

The both of them walked behind Jon and Tormund, considering Edd seemed focused on being at Jon's side since he still harbored different views of the Wildlings than they all did. He didn't trust them, didn't like them, and was one of many who did not understand why Jon tried to ally the Watch with them. Despite his personal feelings, he was loyal.

It came as a surprise when she saw the Lord of Bones come down a path as the Wildlings gave them room to travel forward. He wasn't a face she missed ( she could hardly see it because of the skull face still he wears ). She would've rather dealt with anyone else than him. "Lord of Bones," Tormund said, "been a long time."

"Last time I saw you, the little crow was your prisoner." The little crow, this time, was Jon. Rattheshirt couldn't see her from here so she was free of his insults, for now. Through the skull that adorned his face, he eyed Jon briefly before looking back at Tormund. "The other way around now. What happened?"

"War," answered Giantsbane. He kept it simple as that, not even delving into further detail.

"You call that a war?" Rattleshirt scoffed, "The greatest army the North has ever seen cut to pieces by a southern king."

From the look on Tormund's face, Aza could gather he was in no mood to argue. "We should gather the elders, find somewhere quiet to talk."

"You don't give the orders here," The Lord of Bones made clear.

"I'm not giving an order." Unblinking and unflinching, Tormund stood his ground.

The tension was unnecessary, but everything Rattleshirt said and did was unnecessary. Even with the way he looked Tormund up and down, almost as if he was searching for something. "Why aren't you in chains?" he asked.

"He's not my prisoner," Jon finally spoke, coming in-between Tormund and Rattleshirt's verbal semi-dispute.

"No? What is he?" pried Rattleshirt.

"We're allies." Jon's words were not met with approval. All around them, the Wildlings had twisted their faces in anger, whispers and some shouts of disapproval spilling out of their mouths. None of them boldly moved close, however. In fact, some moved back because they feared a fight would indefinitely break loose.

With her jaw set, her eyes looked back to the Lord of Bones. "You fucking traitor! You fight for the Crows now."

Taking a few steps forward, Tormund tried to make his stance clear. "I don't fight for the Crows."

"We're not here to fight," Jon explained, "we're here to talk."

Stubborn and stupid, Rattleshirt could not be swayed. Aza sighed in annoyance. "Is that right? You and the pretty Crow do a lot of talking, Tormund." He jabbed the head of his staff on Tormund's shoulders, all in efforts to provoke him. "And when you're done talking," said Rattleshirt, aiming to make his next jab one that wasn't so light, "do you get down on your knees and suck his—"

Tormund snatched the staff away, ripping out of Rattleshirt's grasp. He used the end of it to punt him in the stomach than clear across the face with the skull-capped head of it. Once Rattleshirt fell to the ground, it was all over for him there. Tormund unleashed hell, continuously using the staff to beat him to death without any hesitation nor remorse. It was brutal, but Aza found it necessary. It may have been her own bias clouding her judgement, however. She never cared for the Lord of Bones and to watch him die brought her some satisfaction.

With the final crunch of the staff's head meeting Rattleshirt's skull, Tormund threw the staff on the ground and eyed the others, who were still in shock at what unfolded. "Gather the elders and let's talk," Tormund demanded and no one, not a single soul, had dared to deny him.

Aza had looked down at the battered corpse, wondering why death was so necessary to get people to listen and talk. "Is he dead?" Rickon asked, voice low but loud enough for her to hear.

"I hope so and he best be burned or else he might just rise again." When she saw Jon and the others moving, heading to the large cabin overhead, she urged Rickon to move with her hand at the back of his neck to lightly push him forward. He stumbled a bit, too busy looking at the dead Wildling, before he fixed his steps and walked alongside her.

Jon had slowed down his steps, just enough so he could fall in step with her. She looked up at him, curious as to what was on his mind. "What?" Since he offered no explanation, she decided to ask herself of why he was walking alongside her.

"Is it so wrong that I want to walk with you?" Jon asked before briefly looking at Rickon.

"There's nothing wrong with that," she replied, "but you best watch yourself, Commander Snow. We can't let our brothers know what I am."

Did he forget? Possibly. Being around the Wildlings did make her remember old times, back when she was freely a girl. It made her wonder what it would have been like if they chose the Wildlings and not their brothers. What would life be like for them? Would they have been married? Would she be round with child by now? Then the reality of it had set in. If they chose the life of the Wildlings, they would have to kill their brothers, their friends. Everyone at the Wall would die because all of them posed as a threat and probably would not yield. Such selfish wishes always met cruel endings.

The rustic cabin was warm, strangely so considering what was reminiscent of a skylight was carved into the ceiling. It was large and open, nothing to stop the cold air or snow from coming in. The elders, she assumed, had walked in after they did and Aza was surprised to see that one of them was a woman. A Wildling Chieftess? Why hadn't Val, G'winveer or Tormund tell her of that? Was it so normal among them to have women who could hold such a position?

"My name's Jon Snow," he introduced himself, not sounding at all friendly, just proving out serious this situation truly was. "I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. We're not friends. We've never been friends. We won't become friends today. This isn't about friendship. This is about survival. This is about putting a 700ft Wall between you and what's out there."

"You built that Wall to keep us out," said the Chieftess.

"Since when do the Crows give two shits if we live?" Another chieftain spoke out. Aza hadn't known his name. All she knew was he was a Thenn, he had the look of one.

"In normal times, we wouldn't, but these aren't normal times." Aza didn't dare to look away from the bald, pale chieftain, who eyed her just the same. Thenns were cannibals, how could she not be so wary? "The White Walkers don't care if a man's Free Folk or Crow. We're all the same to them; meat to their army." Jon hoped to reason by aiming for inspiration words. Hopefully, these words did not fall on deaf ears. "But together we can beat them."

"Beat the White Walkers," the woman scoffed. "Good luck with that. Run from them, maybe."

Aza rolled her eyes. "Run? And what's the point in that?" she spoke up, taking a step forward so she wasn't lingering in Jon's shadow. "And what will you do when there is no place left to run to?"

"There are places without Winter," the Chieftess said, "and how could the White Walkers change the seasons of such nature? They can't."

"You don't know that," stressed Aza. "You don't know what they're capable of."

The leather bag full of dragonglass was in Jon's hands now and he took some steps to the Chieftess, handing it towards her. She seemed hesitant, not sure if she could trust anything being handed to her by a Crow. "It's not a trick," he explained, "it's a gift for those who join us." The woman rummaged through the bag and examined the obsidian weapons. Before she could speak about what she was seeing before her own eyes, Jon had spoke again; "Dragonglass. A man of the Night's Watch used one of these daggers to kill a Walker."

"You saw this?" the Thenn Chieftain had asked.

"No," Jon answered truthfully, "but I trust the man." Of course. There was no man Jon Snow trusted more than Samwell Tarly.

"There are old stories about dragonglass…" Aza watched the Chieftess as she examined the dagger with wonder. What kind stories, Aza had wanted to ask. The more stories they learned, the greater the help for the fight to come.

The Thenn, however, was not so convinced. "There are old stories about ice spiders big as hounds," he said with some jest. He must've thought this all to be some sort of game.

Aza wanted to say something, but the Chieftess spoke instead; "And with the things we've seen…" she reminded him, "you don't believe them?"

There were some looks exchanged, many of the Wildlings more unsure and confused than they were on board. She hadn't blamed them, not really. Aza could understand how hard it was to ally yourself with ancestral long enemies. "Come with me and I'll share these weapons," Jon had offered them.

"Come with you where?" asked the brunette. He then looked at her, almost to say this was a good time as any to mention Stannis' army.

"There are good lands south of the Wall," Jon explained first. The lands he spoke of were the gift, the very same place she remembered them holding hands and speaking of a stupid rain song she couldn't really remember. Those lands long abandoned could be put to proper use again. "The Night's Watch will allow you through the tunnel and allow your people to farm those lands."

"I speak on the behalf of King Stannis Baratheon," Aza had spoke up, looking around to room to meet every pair of eyes that shifted their attention to her. "The King wants men and women to his army and while I know you want no parts in the wars of us Southerners, this war will impact the world. Once he is king of all Seven Kingdoms, he will create the largest army that the lands have ever seen and before that, he will give the Wildlings that follow him lands and titles. You will have your own Houses, be minor lords and grow to be lords and ladies of your own House. All of that can be achieved by raising your weapons for him and helping him to his throne."

"If he can't get his own throne then why should we help him?" The Thenn chief questioned. "It seems to me that the throne wasn't meant to be his if he can't get it himself."

"A throne isn't so easy to take," Aza tried to word it right, trying to remember all the counter-arguments she rehearsed in her head in case things went awry. "Five Kings wanted to rule and now there is only three. The throne is his by right. The person who sits on the throne now doesn't know of the White Walkers nor do they care."

"We had our own King," the Chieftess mentioned Mance. "Where is he?"

"Yes," agreed the Thenn Wildling. "Where is Mance?"

Jon looked as if he had been dreading this. Either way, he hadn't lied. "He died," he put it plainly.

"How?"

Aza looked down at the great fire in the middle of the room. All her hopes of this coming out in her favor were just about crashing and burning. "I put an arrow through his heart," Jon admitted after such a long pause.

That was a main ingredient for the riot that was about to start. With her hand slowly wrapping around Flyssa's handle and her steps rounding her to shield Jon, she looked to Rickon from the corner of her eyes to see him aiming for the Falchions that were strapped and cross behind his back. Even he, this little wolf of a boy, was prepared to fight without hesitation.

"I say we send the Lord Commander back to Castle Black with no eyes," the Thenn Chief suggested, brandishing his axe to make sure that they all knew he meant every word.

It was Tormund that quickly clambered his way to him, hand pressing to the Thenn's chest to stop him from going anywhere near Jon. "None of you saw Mance die! I did. The Southern King who broke our army, Stannis, wanted to burn him alive to send him a message." Although it was the truth, it did not help her cause. If only some of this could've been spared. How was she supposed to gain any of the Wildlings support or trust if they were made aware of this? "Jon Snow defied that cunt's orders. His arrow was mercy. What it did took courage, and that's what we need today: the courage to make peace with men we've been fighting for generations."

"And here this one is," said the Chieftess, finger pointing at Aza accusingly, "trying to convince us to fight for the man who burned Mance alive because he refused to kneel. You dared to come here and tell us fight for his cause?!"

All their hatred was aimed towards her now. All of their eyes were reflecting the desire to kill. It was almost as if they saw her as Stannis; Mance's killer. "Perhaps we should burn this Crow and send this southern king a message?" One man had spat.

There were roars of agreement echoing in the cabin. As soon as she opted to speak, Jon spoke in her defense. "There is no love between Aza and Stannis as well." He told them, telling a truth that was glaring obvious to the both of them. "Aza is not fighting his cause because he wants to, but because he has to. No one is saying you must love Stannis, I hold no love towards him either. All we want is to unite the everyone so when the White Walkers come we can stop them. We're asking you to think about your children now. They'll never have children of their own if we don't band together. The Long Night is coming and the dead come with it. No clan can stop them. The Free Folk can't stop them. The Night's Watch can't stop them. And all the southern kings can't stop them. Only together, all of us, and even then it might not be enough, but at least then we'll give the fuckers a fight."

Some, not a lot, had nodded in understanding, exchanging looks of approval between one another. Jon's speech had even motivated her as her arm fell back at her side, no longer feeling threatened. "You vouch for this man, Tormund?" The Chieftess had asked him. "And what of this Crow? How about them? This one that speaks for the king."

"He's prettier than both my daughters, but he knows how to fight. He's young, but he knows how to lead. He didn't have to come to Hardhome. He came because he needs us. And we need him." Tormund spoke of Jon before taking a gander at her, his eyes were masking whatever it was that he felt. Normally Tormund was so easy for her to read and she had hoped their differences had not ruined their friendship. "This Little Crow is the toughest, smallest thing I ever damn seen." His large hand rested atop of her head, tousling her hair until it was a complete mess. She hadn't mind it, though. "Even Wun Wun knows how strong and genuine this one is. Had I not been here, Val and G'winveer would've gladly spoke for him. Is their word nothing to you, Karsi?"

"Val is Dalla's sister, wife of Mance. If she holds no resentment to this Crow then why should I?" Karsi had said, arms crossed.

However, not everyone was so easy to accept Jon and herself. "My ancestors would spit on me if I broke bread with a Crow." The pale and bald Thenn had denounced them. He didn't spare them an actual thought.

"So would mine," Karsi agreed, "but fuck 'em, they're dead."

Aza immediately found herself liking this Karsi. Not only was she a Chieftess in her own right, she knew that dead men do not speak for those still living. She walked towards Jon and Aza, sizing the both of them up. "I'll never trust men in black," she made clear to them before making her way over towards Tormund, "but I trust you, Tormund. If you say this is the way, we're with you."

Both Aza and Jon looked at Tormund, who observed every Wildling that his eyes could see. "This is the way." He sounded sure, confident. Completely unwavering.

"I'm with Tormund." One of the elders had spoke up; "We stay here we're dead men. At with King Crow and this little one, there's a chance."

Wun Wun gave his input, surprising her and making her turn to face him. "Tormund."

It did not seem like a lot, those that decided to join them. "Keep that new life you want to give us. Keep your glass, King Crow. Keep kneeling to your Southern King, Little Crow. Soon as you get on his ships they're gonna slit your throats and dump your bodies to the bottom of the Shivering Sea. That's our enemy. That has always been our enemy." It was made clear that none of the Thenns would fight with them.

Every Wildling in the cabin was beginning to leave, making Aza feel relieved that they managed to convince this many, regardless if it may not have been all of them. "I fucking hate Thenns," Karsi commented, making Aza grin while Tormund only nodded his head in agreement.

Jon nudged her side, a little rare optimism on his face. "Are you alright?" he had asked her.

"Never better," Aza replied with sarcasm before grabbing his hand, using their cloaks to shield their arms. "Have I ever told you I like it when you swear?"

"Really?" Grey eyes quickly looked around to room to see who was around before giving her a coy smile. "Should I swear more often?"

The flirting would have to end, she sadly thought. "I won't be around to hear it if you did." Letting go of his hand, she slowly turned around to follow Tormund and Karsi.

Jon, Tormund, Karsi, and herself had made it their mission to lead the Wildlings to the rowboats in an organized fashion. Aza split off to deal with women and children with Rickon, Jon helped whoever had no one to lead them, Tormund helped the men both young and elderly. Rickon took more of the leadership role than she did, especially when it came to the parentless children. They looked to him for guidance, happening to like to be lead around by someone of their age and stature. It amused her to see the Little Wolf lead and be so earnest about it. He was truly taking shape of the lord that he would soon have to be.

"Daeron, the boat is full." Aza looked to her blond-haired brother. "Row them to the ships." He nodded, complying to the order before he took a spot at the front of the boat while another took the back. When the boat paddled away, Rickon sighed and placed his hands on his hips.

"Leading is tiring," he said, "and I'm going to have to do this all day in Winterfell?"

Her eyes tilted in bemusement. "Aye, but you're doing a very good job, yeah? It isn't so hard once you get use to it."

The look he gave her practically implied that he felt otherwise. Wrinkling his nose, Rickon began rounding up the next group of children as the Summer Islander made her way to a group of teen girls, who seemed rather hesitant when any of the older brothers in black had came around. "No need to be frightened," she tried to soothe them, "if any of them try to lay a hand on you, I'll break the very hand they aimed to touch you with."

Only one had given her a slight smile while the others looked skeptical. "And what o' you? Are you not a man yourself?" interrogated one of the wary girls.

"I'm not interested," Aza made clear. "I'm only here to help." Extending her arm, she kept her hand out to the girl at the front of the group to help her to a boat. The Wildling girl looked at her hand and then back up at Aza's gaze. After a long, quiet minute, she took it and climbed onto the rowboat without so much of a fuss. The other girls followed her until Aza deemed the boat was at a good capacity.

Her ear twitched when she heard the sound of hounds barking. Aza turned in the direction they were, considering that's where they were loudest at. It made her wonder what was causing them to act so hostile. She looked over at Jon, who was only but a few feet away from her, only to catch a glimpse that he was curious as well. When their eyes met, their brows bowed simultaneously.

A swirling storm of silver was gathering near the mountains of the gates of Hardhome. It seemed to have come from nowhere, almost like it conjured up on a magical whim. It was shifting into a vortex, the snow looked more like silver mist and the noise the wind was creating was somewhat deafening. "Shut the gate!" The Thenn chief shouted, axe in hand.

There were men hurrying towards the gates, a large in piece wood in their hands to board it up. Subsequently, they would be locking out the people that were on the other side. "Shut the gate!" he screamed this time with more authority and fury as the howling in the distance kept rising in volume. When the board was put in place to hold it shut, Aza looked away whilst hearing the sounds of hands of fists hitting the wood and screams of people pleading to be let in.

The vortex grew stronger, the snow and wind making a thick fog that made it difficult for a person to even see. Aza looked around for Rickon, but she couldn't find him. She could hardly see a damn thing, and the panic that clustered and sparked in her stomach had increased by tenfold.

"Ready your arrows!" The Thenn Chief ordered, making the tension grow in her face and in her limbs. Was it them? The White Walkers? What else could could conjure up such a sudden storm? Her breathing came rapid, on the verge of becoming shallow due to panic. She had to find Rickon. She had to find him and keep him safe. It wasn't because he was Jon's little brother. It also had nothing to do with her promise to protect him once they left the Wall. That little boy meant a lot to her and she refused to see his life cut short while life was still within her.

Although she hadn't seen them, she only heard the arrows take flight after being nock. It didn't put her at ease, not in the slightest because she knew better to think the arrowheads would kill them like they would a human. Regular weapons could not stop the White Walkers, and they could hardly stop the Wights. Like a stampede, the Wildlings came rushing towards the boats. The ones who were stubborn, defiant to stay behind, had ultimately chose the boats themselves and caused a frenzy for those that were prepared to go to the Wall.

A drove of men, women, and children of all sizes and ages ran forward, creating chaos. It was a fight itself to swim through the seething mass and once or twice, the air was knocked out of her due to elbow hitting her stomach and sides. Her feet kept herself firm to the ground, refusing to not allow her to fall. She had keep standing no matter what. She was going to make her way, somehow.

She headed towards the cabin first, wondering if Rickon opted to seek help. She grabbed the door and rushed in, just to meet sword ends aimed at her. "It's me, you fools," she spat at both brothers of the Watch and the Wildlings. Edd looked relieved to see her and pulled her in, shutting the door behind her. "Did you see Ri—" She caught her mistake before it fully left her mouth. "Have you seen Asher?" she hurriedly asked.

"Asher? No, I thought he was with you," Edd answered her. If he he wasn't here then there was no need for her to be here either.

"If you see him, protect him." When she tried to leave the cabin, Edd grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her back.

"What in Seven hells are you thinking? Why would you go back out there?!" His eyes stared at her like she was a madman. If he kept her in this cabin any longer, she surely would become absolutely mad.

"Asher needs me!" Aza tried to make him understand. " _You_ should be protecting our Lord Commander!"

As she tried to pry the door open, Wun Wun had spoke; "Glass." His voice, naturally loud due to his size and build. It was enough to even quake the entire cabin. "Take glass."

In his large hand that his arm stretched over laid a obsidian dagger in his palm. Aza gave him a faint smile, taking it out of his hand and sticking it in her boot should she ever desperately need it. "Thanks, Wun Wun." Edd didn't try to stop her again, letting her go back to the frenzy that was happening outside.

 _Wights._ She saw so many of them. These Wights were far different than the one she killed, too. The Wights before her now were practically bones, no flesh, nor skin. They were walking skeletons with only thin layers of decayed flesh left on certain places. The only way she could tell that they were Wights at all were because of their eyes. Their eyes, frost covered and sparkling blue.

Her steps were first hesitant, fear was trying to restrict her from the throes that one feels when preparing to fight. It was when she had come to realize that while Asher's safety was important, she had to kill as many Wights as she could until then. The dead kept piling and the numbers of the White Walker's army were increasing. They could not give them more men. They could not set the odds so high against them.

Aza shot forward towards them, Flyssa in hand. The first strike was fast, letting Flyssa's long and sharp blade rid the world of two Wights with a quick beheading. The ones that were mere animated bones were easier to destroy that way. They only proved to be a threat when two or more were after you, but if they were severed from a group then the fight was within your favor. With each step, every time Flyssa had moved, a Wight's corpse shattered, leaving a trail of broken and putrey bones in her wake.

All the fight in her had came to a halt all because of what her eyes could see on top of the cliff. Just right where the storm had started. Right there, on top of horses, were creatures that were shadowed by snow-filled mist. What were they? Who were they? White Walkers? She couldn't keep her eye on them for long. The sound of a child's scream rang so loud in her ear, bringing her back to another important matter.

 _Rickon._

Where was he? Was he alive? Was that him screaming? "Aza!" Jon called out her name, bringing her out of the worst of her thoughts to turn to face him as he gripped her shoulders. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" The questions just flew out of his mouth.

"I'm fine," she stated and then she suddenly hesitated. Should she tell him Rickon was missing? He was the Lord Commander, he couldn't go on aimless search for a little boy. That's how the Watch would see it. They were still unaware that Asher was truly Rickon, his baby brother. But lying… she had done that before and regretted it. Could she do it again when the risk was that Rickon might actually be dead? What if Rickon died and he rose again as a Wight?

Now wasn't the time for mental debates and what-ifs. "We need to hurry to the boats but before that, I have to find Rickon. He separated from me." He was afraid, eyes darkening with fear and his grip loosening and tightening as he lost himself in thought.

"We'll search for him together." Immediately, she shook her head. Aza completely rejected that idea. Jon could not look like he made Asher, the orphan boy, a priority. "What do you mean no?"

"You're the Lord Commander, Jon." Her throat felt taut because emotion was filling it. It was her fault for not keeping a better eye on the boy. "If our brothers see that you made an orphan, a lowborn boy, as your priority, they won't let you live it down. They'll say you endangered yourself, the Watch, and everything else for just one life. They don't know that he's Rickon, Jon. Whatever happens, you have to be in a boat."

His fingers dug so tightly into her shoulders, she felt like his nails were going to come through the material. "If I cared about what they thought of me, I wouldn't even be here. Rickon is my brother, I will find him and I'm not leaving without either one of you."

"You're not Jon Snow, the bastard son of Ned Stark of Winterfell and brother to Rickon Stark." It felt wrong to say those words. His priorities, however, could not be swayed by personal feelings. His mind was nearly always in the right place, where honor and duty laid… but right now? She knew his heart was overriding logic. "You're also not Jon Snow, my lover. You're the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Your actions from here on out will forever define you and how the others look at you. You might not care what they see nor what they think, but you should. I will find Rickon and if the boats are gone when I do, I will find a way back."

"You're right," he said. "I am the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch." All emotion had been void in his voice. All except for anger. "And right now, I am your commanding officer and I'm giving you an order." While he did sound angry, she could see that behind his eyes was a miserable sadness. "You will find Rickon and you will find him on time to board a boat and that's an order."

Her nod was quick and her eyes were almost welling up with tears. "Yes, Commander Snow." She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to give him some sort of gesture that could be the last form of affection she could ever give him again. Not here, not now, even with the mayhem going on. Aza gave him a smile instead and stepped out of his grasp that he hardly seemed to want to loosen.

They both turned and went separate ways.

Not too far from where she stood, she saw something shine as if the sun was somehow reflecting off a clear surface. How? Aza wondered, how when there was no sun or light to cause such a reaction? Something told her to go there while another part of her mind begged her to stay away. What if Rickon was there? Rickon could be gods-know where at this point.

She ran in that direction, seeing the reflective item that shined light far away, shift in colors as she approached it. Her running slowly turned into a jog upon realizing what was standing before her. It was a tall and gaunt figure with bone-white skin and wore black armor that seemed to change color whenever she moved or whenever it moved. In one hand was a sword made of thin crystal, almost like it was a blade long tapering piece of ice.

Aza found herself unable to move, petrified by fear. When it turned, all she met was cold blue eyes that were as bright as blue stars. Her legs twitched, fighting the impulse to whirl around and pretend she wasn't seeing what she was seeing. To try to forget this creature she was seeing at this very moment. Was it one of them that she saw ahorse atop of the cliff? Was this really what Jon saw that took Craster's son and what Samwell killed?

Running away seemed absolutely pointless now. It was already looking at her. It already wanted to kill her. The only thing left to do was hold her sword ready and watch as the creature had tread so lightly on the snow that it left no footprint. In a wordless fury, Aza launched herself towards the White Walker. With all her weight behind Flyssa, she tried to strike at the monster's neck. In an instant, the sword that she could see up close that glowed a faint blue, had knocked her sword back, yanking Aza's arm to the right with the blade. She stumbled lopsidedly, trying to regain her balance as she couldn't believe the force of its deflection was that strong.

Infuriated as well as afraid, she swung the sword like a madwoman. The crystal sword met Flyssa time and time again with more strength than before that made her arms feel like they wanted to shatter each time she was quick enough to block its strikes.

In one fell swoop, it gave another devastating blow that she anticipated to block, but the force of it tremored a pain in her arms that made her drop her sword with a pained wail. Right now, she was utterly and completely helpless. Useless. Her, fighting a White Walker? Why did she think herself so strong to do it? Where was this bravery, or actually this arrogance that made her dare even try to fight it?

Aza fell to her knees, chest heaving. The cold air that she breathed in made her lungs feel like they wanted to freeze over. This cold wasn't normal, it was completely unnatural. Her eyes looked down at Flyssa, mostly out of defeat. Her sword arm felt so sore that she didn't think she could lift Flyssa up again.

It was saying something, the White Walker. Its mouth was moving, sound was actually coming out of it. It didn't sound like a human was capable of mimicking. It sounded like ice, cracking in several different forms and tempos, making it utterly painful as it entered her ears. What was it telling her? She wanted to know and yet had no way of ever finding out.

As it spoke, however, Aza dragged her pained and tired body across the ground, towards her fallen Flyssa. It was speaking again without stopping her from reaching her sword. With the last ounce of strength she seemed to have possessed, Aza lifted Flyssa again and turned to face the White Walker. "I'm not gonna die like some weak bitch, yeah?" Aza knew it probably didn't understand her, but she didn't care. She was not going to abandon victory. Never. Not even when the chances were so damn slim.

With anger burning in her eyes and her jaw curved to sport a toothy grin, she flung herself at the creature of ice again. The White Walker smashed aside her attack, but a second immediately followed behind immediately, and then a third. Blow after blow crashed down on the White Walker's defenses, not giving her enough time to even acknowledge the hell of agony that coursed through her arms.

It always seemed to know when to swing its blade up to meet hers. Had she become that predictable? If so, she dared to change the speed of the battle. With the next swing, she made it so the ice sword rebounded from her strike, forcing it back. Aza used this opportunity to leap for the next opening.

But it did not swing its sword. No, instead, it shot forward its hand. It grabbed her by the ends of her hair and slammed her head onto the ground, steadily grounding her face into the snow with a force that made her hiss and desperately to fight herself out of its hold. She could barely see, her eyes forcibly squint.

As her legs flailed around, trying to force her way to fight back against its strength, she felt something smooth move against her calf. The dragonglass. How could she forget the dragonglass? Aza tried to bend her knee, bringing her foot close so that her hand could hurriedly reach inside the boot. When she caught the ends of the dagger, she stabbed the sharp end into its arm. The creature's arm exploded into many particles of crystals of ice, shocking her and relieving her all at once.

Clambering onto her feet, she readied herself to attack again, but its whole body soon imploded. Blinking twice out of bewilderment, she tried to figure out what happened. Then her eyes caught a glimpse of something on the ground. Lying just a mere inches away from her was an arrow with its head made of… dragonglass?

"That was close." Her head whipped up, a relieved sigh leaving past her lips. Rickon stood there, bow in hand, with a smile on his face. "Are you alright? Are you wounded?" Aza didn't bother to answer any of his questions, she pulled the boy close in a tight hug, so happy that he was still alive and unharmed.

"You little—" Aza wanted to curse and at last second, opted not to. She was so happy that he was alive that she could not let herself be infuriated that he was missing in the first place. "We have to hurry. The boats are leaving and they will sail without us." Climbing on her feet, she took the boy's hand and broke out into a run, heading towards the shores were so many boats were leaving to go back to the ships.

It took some time until they could see the dock or even a boat. When they were close enough, they saw Jon, Tormund and Edd, still left in one of the boats still close to shore. "Aza, Asher! Jump!" He didn't need to say it again. The both of them ran onto the dock and hurriedly leapt off the edge of it and onto the boat. It startled them a bit startled, the sway of the ship, but it managed to not turn over and they had enough time and to properly sit up or even stand.

"Wun Wun, to the sea!" Tormund shouted at the Giant, who was staying back to take out more of the Wights with a large log. He eventually listened, walking towards the boat, tearing off Wights that jumped and clung onto his back. Within an instant they died when he threw them in the water.

"Let's go now! Now!" Jon ordered again, Longclaw in hand. Brothers of the Watch began to paddle, not moving as fast as they should be since the horrors were still in front of them, frightening them to the bone.

When Aza turned back to look at the shore, seeing that Jon and everyone else on the boat was doing the same, she didn't watch as the Wights as they were killing all of the survivors. All she could stare at was the White Walker with the same skin like the one Rickon's arrow killed come walking up to the end of the dock.

This was one… was different.

He looked as if he was their leader—their king so to speak—since the ring of small horns atop of his skull formed a crown; a natural crown. He was more frightening than the one she fought. Something about him exuded evil. Complete raw power. And he unveiled that power to him when he slowly raised his arms in the air, almost as if he was commanding something to rise.

And rise they did.

All the dead, Wildlings and Night's Watch, that had been loss in this unexpected battle had rose. As they rose, their eyes opened, blue with newfound life.

 **JON**

As promised, the Wildlings were let through the tunnel so they could make themselves at home at the farmlands that he had promised they could have. Many of the Night's Watch looked at each and everyone of them with disdain, making their hatred known without even try to broker some peace. Stannis was ready to march on Winterfell, having said he wanted to leave at midnight and no time less or later than that.

Aza had managed to convince fifty Wildlings to join Stannis' army. The terms were that one of their own and she, herself, would represent them. They trusted her and Stannis had only agreed to it because he was too busy surprised she managed to gather this many. There were so many things happening that kept them busy that he hardly let himself think of what happened at Hardhome. He knew that when the nights came and he was alone with no distraction, the nightmares would come and he would have to deal with it than try to escape.

The only bit of escape he had was leaving him and she was donning the very same black dress she mentioned Queen Selyse had given her. If this was the last time he was going to see her, Jon felt grateful that he was going to see her looking more beautiful than usual for the very last time.

As he walked further from the gates of Castle Black, right where Stannis' army was preparing to leave, he saw her black skirts pool atop of the pristine white snow as her hands were petting Ghost. "Don't go tellin' Jon that I said I'm going to miss you, yeah? You and I are still enemies, so don't take this to heart." Ghost let out a whine, nuzzling the side of her face as her hand combed through the fur on his back. Never, and he meant never, did he think he'd ever see her acting like this.

Because he wasn't supposed to know she was giving Ghost a sweet goodbye, Jon waited until she felt herself having said and done all she wanted. As she got herself to her feet and turned to look at him, she puffed her cheeks after being caught. He got a good look at her.

Her hair was unbounded, wavy and wild as it reached just about the middle of her back. Jon hadn't realized it had grown that long since she opted for hairstyles and sometimes fur hats that hid its length all because she stopped cutting it after some months ago. Her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, giving her some mystery and making people look at her with curiosity as it was only worn to further disguise who she truly was.

Some of the Watch already asked him about her, trying to figure out since when this girl was a part of Stannis' army since they never seen her. Jon made up some extravagant lie, saying she rarely showed herself since she was delicate in health. They believed it, for a time, and he had no doubt they would soon grow skeptical of it. He already had to think of something else to explain Aza, the ranger's, absence. He decided to think of it later, even though thinking about her would pain him as of late.

Aza was the one to decrease the distance between them, walking towards him in a rather timid gait. "Commander Snow," she said his title in that Summer lilt he loved. "Have you come to see me off?" Her head canted ever so slightly, her lips in the form of a smile. Despite the cheerful appearance, he knew better than to believe she was happy.

"No," he teased. "I was only taking a stroll."

Aza's face quickly deadpanned. Sucking her teeth, she rolled her eyes and squared her shoulders. "A stroll, huh? Then keep on goin' then," her reply was haughty, truly acting as if she was some sort of highborn girl. The kind he didn't really much care for. Keeping up with her game, he kept walking, going right past her until he felt her hands grab his arm. "Wait, were you really taking a stroll?" Jon tried to hold in his laugh. Her face contorted into one of vexation and a loose fist lightly hit him on the chest. "Bastard," she mumbled, eyes still slightly narrowed.

"You look beautiful, you know that?" Aza's frown fought not to become the reverse. Stubborn. She was always so stubborn. "You always do. I wish I had told you that more." That had done the trick. Aza's eyes lit up, head tilted down in a bashful look. He wished she was always this easy to cheer up. It would've saved him plenty of times.

With a sigh, Jon settled to rest his forehead against her own. "I wish you could stay," Jon whispered, knowing that was absolutely selfish of him. Part of him was glad she was leaving, feeling as though she could finally be free in some way without looking over shoulders, always afraid someone would find out her secret. She would be safe away from the Watch. Her life meant more to him than his own. Jon had lost plenty of things and accepted losing them, but how could he accept losing the one constant thing he had known for three years? When he looks at her, he doesn't just see the girl who held his heart in the very palm of her hands. He saw his entire world—past, present, and future. But what he sees is wrong. There was no future for them in which they are together, at least there can't be.

"I know," she spoke softly. "I wish I could stay, too."

Jon let a hand caress her cheek before bringing it to the back of her neck, drawing her in closer until his lips met hers. The kiss was soft, like a whisper, tentative and a slow linger. Aza had yielded to him when he wrapped her in his arm, body held tight against his when he drew her deeper into the kiss. When he finally pulled away, Jon stayed close enough that his lips brushed hers. "I love you," he whispered against her lips, breath ragged.

"And I love you." She brushed the hair from his face with her fingertips and pressed a kiss on his forehead. He held her for a few moments, her head cradled in the curve of his neck.

The time for them to part had come, he had known it was due to the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked left to see Melisandre, who seemed amused by their displays of affection. "His Grace, the King, is ready for departure."

Aza pulled away from him first, lifting the hood of her cloak over her head before giving him the faintest of smiles. "I'm not going to say goodbye," Aza told him with glossy eyes. "I'm going to say see you soon, yeah?"

It was difficult to smile, but he did it for her. "See you soon, Aza." She turned away, walking alongside Melisandre, towards Stannis who sat atop of his horse not too many feet away. As she moved further and further away, Jon realized he was saying goodbye to the last piece of Summer he had known. Summer, the season, was already gone, but it lived on in her. He had loved the Summer and loved in the Summer, and now he has to let it completely go.

Winter was truly coming.

* * *

 **A/N** : That was... _a lot_.

Also, R.I.P to the actor that played Maester Aemon, Peter Vaughan. Writing that scene felt even sadder knowing he past away a few days ago.

lilnightmare17: one of these days, i'm expecting - that was a rude/mean chapter instead of a nice one. this chapter was pretty rude, esp near the end.

pikapyon: I'm glad to have cheered you up! Yes, it was pretty slow, but I just wanted a few things out of the way for that chapter. The action is back again and finally sadness. c: I love giving out sadness. ohmygod - kalshflahHADHLADHA -that's the sound of my happiness. _A fan_. I am honored.

kate langdon: would you think me so cruel to do that? would you? am i?

maya: i hope you stay obsessed!

guest: kjslfsjd i loved all the reviews you put. i bet you didn't think the update would happen this soon, but i did say it would be soon to make up for all the time i took. lmao.


	18. Chapter 17: Fools Rush In

**AZA**

She missed him.

Only a fortnight had gone by since she saw him last, but she was ill with longing for him. The nights put her in the thick of her thoughts because at least during the day, she had so many distractions. If it wasn't Stannis and the war table then it was Rickon and his training or spending time with the Princess Shireen, and lastly it was getting better acquainted with the Wildlings. She had made it her mission to make sure that the Baratheon army treated them well. There were so many things to preoccupy her time with that it isn't until the moon is nigh and her tent is dimly-lit that she is alone with her thoughts in a bed that felt foreign, cold, and lonely.

She could write to him. Send him a raven asking what was happening in the Watch thus far just to have any means of communication with him. It would not be the same as hearing his voice or feeling the heavy gaze of his eyes looking at her, but it was something. It was anything and anything was better than nothing at all. In other ways, she didn't want to seem desperate. Her pride felt it wrong for her to act so quickly. If he missed her, wouldn't he send her a raven? Why should she be the one to send it to him? Such thoughts left her huffy and annoyed, clutching her pillow and kicking her feet because she hates how stupid and stubborn she cannot help to be sometimes.

Since sleep wouldn't come to claim her, Aza climbed out of her bed, grabbed her nearest cloak and slipped on some worn boots. A walk would clear her head and she missed seeing the stars since they could always calm her.

Nearly everyone had gone into their tents, just a few men stuck around in the cold to sit around a fire and chatter. Others were doing rounds, making sure they weren't ambushed and to watch the Wildlings, of that she was sure of. The Wildlings she got along well with had told her about G'Winveer when she asked due to how long it has been since she seen her. She was informed that G'Winveer looked for strays, those that got separated and lost and would return them to the Wildling settlement that Mance Rayder once used when he planned to attack the Wall again. Aza was satisfied to know she still lived, but it hadn't surprised her much since she was aware that G'win could take care of herself.

The darkness of night was heavy and the chilly wind that's bite is harsh could be felt through her cloak. Aza could feel the hairs on the back of her neck raise as the teeth of the wind's bite left their marks in the form of goosepimples tingling on her arms. However, the bite was staring to feel like it's teeth was daring to sink more than flesh deep. Her blood was starting to run so cold through her veins that her bones even felt the chill.

It was a bad feeling and she couldn't quite shake it off.

The pace she walked was leisurely, aiming to go absolutely nowhere since she was only wandering. It was only within a moment that she saw Stannis, who must've had the same restlessness as her for he was standing in the middle of snowy nowhere with his eyes gazing at the half-illuminated moon. "Your Grace," she said, letting him know that he was not alone. While his company wasn't exactly desirable, she didn't mind using him for a means of social distraction.

"You should be asleep." He sounded very much like a father scolding their fidgety child. "Or does the battle that soon approaches rest heavy on your mind?"

A gale came, playing with her hair since it fell loose about her face whirly, wavy, and tousled. Her fingers combed it back from out of her eyes as she stood beside him, looking at that thin crescent of a moon that seemed to enrapture him.

"A lot of things weigh on my mind, Your Grace. I've been in many battles as of late so I'm afraid your fight for Winterfell does not have me unnerved." It was her honest opinion. The Boltons didn't frighten her, not in the slightest. She hadn't really known much about them to make her consider if they would be worthy adversaries. All she knew were that they were people who lacked loyalty and after what they had done thus far, they deserved death. "It is what we do afterwards that I think of."

"You remind me of my brother," Stannis suddenly said, making her wonder which one he spoke of. "Robert could not sit still in his youth and when he was of your age, he ran head first to war."

She wasn't sure if she liked this comparison. She wasn't even sure if he was insulting her or complimenting her. "A person like that shouldn't have been king, if you ask me."

"He did not start the rebellion to be king," Stannis replied stiffly. "Who else better fitted than the man who led the charge and won every single battle? He was also the one to put an end to Rhaegar Targaryen."

"Don't we all know it?" Aza sighed, having heard the story of the Ruby Ford a thousand times during her time in King's Landing under Robert's reign. "The Stag crushed the Dragon Prince with his almighty hammer~" Her voice, whilst laced with aggravation, said the words so sing-songy like the bards she heard repeating the tale.

His stern face morphed to one of disdain, almost like he had a personal vendetta with Rhaegar himself. "That Dragon Prince was no real dragon, he was but a fool. He was not a praiseworthy warrior and he thought he could win against battle-hardened rebels and a man of 14 stone and filled with rage. All of this could've been avoided if he let that She-Wolf go back to her den to await her marriage to Robert."

There was nothing to indicate that Stannis still loved his older brother and yet there was nothing to disprove it either since he spoke of him somewhat well. With a cant of her head, Aza pondered what kind of relationship did the Baratheon brothers exactly have. It was nothing she should involve herself in, but perhaps being a sellsword at one time made her nosy of other people's lives. Even more so towards people she was stuck with for a long while.

"You think he stole her?" Aza asked. Nobody really knew, it was just assumed. Did she run away with him or was she abducted? All who knew the answer were dead.

"Matters not what I think of what happened between him and the Stark girl." She frowned, only slightly. It wasn't all that surprising that the king hadn't cared and she supposed she shouldn't either. "Rhaegar's reckless decision shaped the world to what it is right now and it was not for the better," stated Stannis.

She wondered if that was true. If Rhaegar had not done what he had, what would the world be like now? The changes seemed subtle when you thought who would still be alive, but it's also insurmountable to think of who would not be born either. Aza still had not known who her father was and it was the fact that she did not know if Robert's rebellion or Rhaegar's choice—maybe even both if she thinks about it deeply enough—is the sole reason that she's alive.

"I suppose you have a point," Aza conceded, sluggishly shrugging her shoulders. "I tend to not want to dwell in the past but time has made me nostalgic as of late."

"Nostalgia is an illusion," he put it sharply. His eyes kept themselves steadily fixed to the starry night as he spoke; "Youth brings joy to most, even more for those who lost it. Youth is full of ignorance and who is the fool who wants to repeat a life where everything they've been told was a lie and each discovery supplies another wound?"

Pessimistic as he was sounding, he was speaking a rather brutal truth. Aza remained silent, having nothing to really say. "My daughter," Stannis changed the subject, "I see you speak with her often."

Aza was unsure of whether he was going to warn her to stay away or if he was just curious of what she and the princess would speak about. "I told Princess Shireen that if she ever needs an ear to listen that I could provide that for her," she answered him with honesty. She could've outed Davos, saying he was the one to suggest it, but something kept her from admitting that. Davos had only wanted was best for Shireen and she couldn't let him bear the wrath of Stannis for that. She could handle whatever the king would throw at her.

He pried his lips apart to say something and she anxiously awaited for the response, but the sound of running feet crunching the snow underfoot distracted them and they turned to look at a troubled guard. "Your Grace," they said, clearly out of breath from the run. It wasn't that far but since they ran so hard then whatever they needed to announce must have been important. Her first thought was Rickon. She hoped he wasn't in danger. The idea that she couldn't take her eyes off him for a single moment was enough to keep her stressed.

"Fire. Someone set fire to the tents, Your Grace!"

Aza broke into a sprint, not bothering whether Stannis was close behind or giving orders. She had to save Rickon or see that he was safe for herself and then check on the Wildlings. They came under her suggestion and she could not let harm befall them, making them believe she promised them death. Their hope lied on her shoulders and it was a weight she intended to carry until they received all that was promised.

The guard was right. The a good portion of the camp burned in a sea of red, yellow, and orange as screams echoed into the night. The smoldering flames burned away every tent they touched and then latched and engulfed both men and horses. Tendrils of smoke would reach desperately into the sky, as if trying to escape the blazing inferno below.

Panic, however, began to cluster like electric sparks in her abdomen. In her face and limbs, tension was birthed and grew. Her mind kept replaying the image of when she watched Rykker burn alive in sacrifice before her very own eyes. Her breathing came rapid before it became shallow. The scene would accelerate in her head and while she wanted to forget it, push it far back as possible in her mind, she could settle for it to at least slow down so that she can breathe but it won't.

The world was starting to spin, so she had squatted down to the ground, trying to make it all stationary again to make her brain and body cope. Ever since that night she watched Rykker burn, she had never been quite the same.

The internal hurricane began to wither once she felt small hands on her shoulders and Rickon's bright eyes, illuminated by the nearby fires, were staring into her own. He did not know that he was grounding her, easing her out of her panic, all because she was so immensely relieved that he was safe. Although she could still hear her breaths, rasping and uncontrolled, she now had more willpower to let the panic ease itself away.

"Are you alright?" His voice was soft and low. It should've been hurried, loud, and full of alarm due to the chaos all around them. And yet, he was calm and concerned for her and only her.

"I'm fine," Aza said in a hurry, trying force herself to smile in efforts to ease him. "Did you see what happened here?" As his hands slipped from her shoulders, she made herself stand with minor difficulty.

While he looked unsure that she told him the truth, he did not hesitate to explain what happened. "I didn't see anyone. All I saw were tents on fire." Rickon looked around, eyes immediately slewing away whenever a burning and screaming man ran by. "I made Shaggy stand guard at the Princess' tent. I wasn't sure if they were after King Stannis or not."

Seeing nothing useful in standing around and talking, they had to help put the fires out. It was easier to throw snow on the fire since it would take too long to wait for a bucket of snow turn to water. "I don't think they were after the King or the Princess," she gathered. Something seemed off. These fires were placed deliberately, but to deliberately do what? "Which tents did you see on fire?"

Rickon furrowed his brows as he tried to remember where the fires began. "First where the food is stored and where the big weapons are." The siege weapons and food. The arsonists must've been Bolton men but how did they enter the camp unnoticed? How come none of the guards had seen any of them? It was dark due to night, but the men Stannis assigned to stand watch were surely not deaf nor blind. "Oh, and where the horses are kept!" he quickly added upon remembering.

"Come on," Aza placed her hand atop of his head, leading him along while trying her very best to ignore the repulsing smell of charred flesh of both men and horses that flooded her nostrils. "Let's get these fires out and see if the Wildlings are safe."

All the fires were put out by first light and it was time to count the dead and tend to the wounded. Rickon had done his best to keep himself from being queasy, but seeing the blistering skin of many of their comrades was enough to make the boy finally let all the bile he kept swallowing be let out. Aza was no healer and so she followed the instructions of the few healer men that managed to survive. Since the injured toll was high, she tried to solely focus on the Wildlings.

Luckily, she had lost none since there had been a separation between them and the Baratheon army. Many of these Southern soldiers thought themselves too better than the likes of them and treated them rather unkindly. It hadn't stopped the Wildlings from sharing their own methods on how to deal with burns and she would be the one to deliver their expertise of the matter to the Baratheon army's healers. Aza and Rickon had soon joined the search for Fireweeds that bloomed steadily and were ready for harvest in the Autumn but would eventually grow harder to find once Winter was in full swing.

When they collected as many as they could, they had brought them back and the Wildlings made poultices from the roots of the plants. Aza and Rickon had brought the mixtures to the Baratheon army's healers, who were grateful and weary all at once. Aza did her best not to argue with them that now wasn't the time for their petty fights with people who were just born on the opposite side of the Wall.

It didn't take long until it seemed like they would eventually regain some order that was lost. While Rickon did his best to help the healers and the wounded, Aza tried to investigate what the Boltons were trying to accomplish. This wasn't a scare tactic and neither did they think they could burn away the entirety of Stannis' army. They had an objective and she was going to figure it out.

"Twenty men rode into our camp without a single guard sounding the alarm?" The Baratheon's House words suited him best right now. She could hear every tremble of fury in Stannis' voice. Her eyes looked up ahead to see Stannis and Davos walking side by side, surveying the camp to see how much damage was done.

"The Northerners know more about their land than we ever will," Davos said, speaking some sense. While the Wildlings knew of Northern weather, these lands were still quite foreign to them. The Boltons could still outsmart them in quite a number of ways.

"Put last night's guards in chains, either they fell asleep or they were conspiring with the enemy," Stannis ordered harshly to the soldiers behind him. "Find out the truth and then hang them." It was a little unfair but it wasn't completely wrong. Aza kept her mouth shut, knowing that pleading for the guards lives wouldn't exactly work in their favor.

"Unless there's a thaw, we can't press forward to Winterfell, and we don't have enough food to get us back to Castle Black." Aza listened to Davos' grim explanation, mentally contemplating on what they should do if Stannis didn't have a concrete answer.

"We're not returning to Castle Black," Stannis said simply and due to his back in her direction, she couldn't quite see the look on his face.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Seaworth sounded utterly confused just as much as she was. "I never claimed to be an expert in military matters, but if we can't march forward, and we won't march back…"

Her brow arched as Davos followed Stannis' gaze, looking back at where Melisandre and Selyse stood before a tent. She tilted her head, wondering what Davos was piecing together and what Stannis was planning to do.

"Have the dead horses butchered for me," Stannis spoke his command and walked over to Melisandre, giving her a sign that she was to follow him to wherever he was going off to. Davos had watched and then his eyes had met hers and she felt her heart sinking into her stomach.

The bad feeling she had felt a dose of last night came flooding back tenfold.

He walked towards her and she stood still, letting him close the distance between them. "He's going to make a sacrifice to R'hollor, isn't he?" inquired Aza, knowing Davos would at least give her the truth if that were the case. It didn't seem out of the norm and that's what the King did when he sought Melisandre counsel, didn't he?

"It would seem so," he spoke rather bitterly, almost like the thought of it put a bad taste in his mouth. "Instruct the Wildlings to go hunting. They hunt best in snow, don't they? I'm afraid the dead horses won't feed all these mouths."

"I understand." Aza sighed, agreeing with the order. "But who will he sacrifice? Does he just choose randomly? Does R'hllor whisper to Melisandre who is worth being scorched in his honor?"

Davos shook his head, looking completely confused. "I don't understand it myself and I don't intend to. You shouldn't bother to think of it. I see you think it all as mad nonsense as I do."

"It's not that I care about how it is done and why," she made clear to him, making him understand that she had no inclination to be taught of the ways of the Red God and his believers. "It is that Rickon is my priority and should she think even a lock of his hair is to be burned, I will slay her as well as Stannis if he agrees and that will be the end of that. I'll do the Boltons work for them."

It was strange how a smile played about his face. Davos was the Hand of the King, his loyal knight, his able lord, and his friend… So why did he smile at that? Did her threat sound that humorous or was this his way of telling that he did not take her seriously? This would not be the first time she threatened King Stannis Baratheon and she meant what she said now just as much as she meant it before. "I imagine no other reaction than that from you. Lord Rickon is too important for he is the only key His Grace will have to the North. She would not have her way seeing that child burned for her god." Her nose wrinkled in annoyance that Davos thought he knew her so well.

"I believe we have some work to do, Aza." And after saying that, Davos turned around and headed his way to where the majority of the dead horses were rounded. She went opposite to go to the Wildlings to help them hunt for some food.

 **RICKON**

Some men were better off dead, at least that's what he thinks. There were men who had burns that seemed to eat away most if not all of their skin. Some burns had ate away so much flesh that one could see muscle or even bone. One man had skin that was charred black while a plenty few had dry burns with leathery white all around. Many soldiers would vomit violently or screamed whenever someone so much as looked at it their burns. They hadn't cared about their throats that would surely be raw from their unabated cries. It reminded him of his time in the infirmary of Castle Black, but he had stayed by Aza's bed and did not dare to look at the grievously injured men around him because he was too afraid to look at them. Now? Well, he was to be a man now and men did not cower from flesh wounds.

"You've done all you can, Lord Rickon." His eyes looked up at the healer he kept close to. The man seemed tired and ill himself, possibly queasy by looking and treating the various degrees of burns so many of these men suffered through. "I must elevate these burns but some of these men are afraid to be touched. It'll take some time to coax them."

Rickon nodded halfheartedly and carefully stood to his feet, trying to balance the snow-laced water so it didn't spill. Once he placed it on a nearby table in what was now deemed the infirmary tent, he turned to the healer. "If there is anything else I can do then you can ask." He wasn't sure what kind of help he could provide. If they needed someone to put these men out of their misery then he didn't mind doing it. Would it seem so strange for a merciful kill to be a boy's first human kill? His first kill ever was an Other or White Walker—he couldn't really differentiate what that thing was.

"For now, I think it is best that you get some rest. You've stayed up all through the night and the King cannot linger here much longer. Get all the rest you can before travel, M'lord."

It was strange to be called Lord Rickon or "M'lord", especially when he barely had grown use to people calling Bran that once when they were the only family left in Winterfell. Rickon did his best to not let it show that he still found it odd since he would have to grow used to it when he was in Winterfell's warm and grey walls again.

To be so close to home was a bittersweet feeling. Whenever they marched, he kept hoping to see an outline of the home he had always known, but they were still much too far away. At first he feared that once he looked and step back into Winterfell's courtyard, all he would remember was how Theon had ruined it. He would think of all who died and how he had to watch them die. He would walk alone down empty grey halls and sit at the high table that their father used to sit with his mother and be something he didn't know how to be.

What wounded Rickon more than those thoughts was the fact that he could barely remember his own father's face. He tried and tried to think of him, but all he can see is a body with a very blurry head. How strange. His father's head is blurred and severed in his dreams just like how he died in reality. And his mother? He could remember her long, red hair and her blue eyes that looked just like his own. She's much easier to remember since they were always together before Bran's fall. Rickon used to like to taste the ends of her hair because he liked the smell of it so much.

As he pondered down the sad and lonely path of memories, he found his way to Shireen's tent to see Shaggydog was guarding it obediently. The direwolf immediately got on all fours once Rickon neared, just to cover his offered hand in slobber, his tongue of sandpaper was dripping with every lick. Although his tail wasn't wagging side to side, it went round and round like a wheel; any happier and Rickon thought Shaggydog would be ready to tackle him and lick his face as he always did when he's in a jolly mood. "You did good, Shaggy." Rickon smiled as he praised the wolf, who barked in a rather lively tone. "I hope you didn't scare her, though."

"Not at all." Rickon jumped at the sound of her voice, watching as she peeked her head through the flaps of her tents. "He kept me good company and I felt safe with him near," Shireen smiled after her explanation. "Thank you for sending him to protect me, Lord Rickon."

Unsure of what to do or say, Rickon only nodded. "Aza says the men weren't after you or your father, so there was no use in me being worried." The words didn't feel right once they left him, it almost made him want to grimace. Shireen's smile faltered some, probably coming to understand that his words unintentionally meant that it was a waste for him to care about her well-being. "But I'm glad that you're fine…" he mumbled, unsure of how to fix his mistake.

That made up for it, at least somewhat. She didn't look so disappointed anymore. "Where is Aza?" she asked, looking around in search for her before meeting his eyes again. "Is she with my father?"

"No, she went to hunt with the Wildlings. There weren't enough horses to butcher and feed everyone." After he answered her, he felt awkward.

There was nothing else to say, at least he believed there wasn't. He eyed the Princess with curiosity as she looked down at the snowy ground in thought. "Have you ever read: "The Dance of Dragons"?" Her question was random and it left him confused.

"No," he said and furrowed his brows, "what's it about?"

Her eyes lit up, enthused to be speaking of this subject so suddenly. "When Viserys I named his daughter his heir, many people in the kingdom were quite angry that a woman was set to rule. Rhaenyra's half brother, Aegon II, was also apart of the many. The realm had split in half and Houses chose which side they believed to be the right one and those that supported Rhaenyra were the Blacks and those that supported Aegon II were the Greens."

It was interesting, he would give her that. Rickon would rather listen to a story than read one. "The war ultimately hurt House Targaryen than it helped it and killed their dragons, too. Aemon and Daemon Targaryen had fought on the backs of their dragons over Harrenhal, but both of them died and so did their dragons; Vhagar and Caraxes."

"Well, who won? If so many of them died and even some of their dragons then who sat on the Iron Throne?" he asked, growing impatient.

"Well," Shireen sighed, "Rhaenyra was fed to Aegon's injured dragon, Sunfyre, right before the eyes of her son. So, Aegon II had won the Iron Throne and became the king, but… he had many enemies and most of them were supporters of Rhaenyra. They would not stop fighting against him in her name. And because there was so much chaos from her supporters, a man close to Aegon II poisoned him and Aegon III, Rhaenyra's son, became the king."

The story was sad… _depressing,_ actually. He was stuck feeling sorry for Rhaenyra and her son, who had watched his own mother murdered. If Sansa and Arya had saw their own father lose their head then… No, he would shake that thought away. It was far too complicated and emotional to think about. "Too many Aegons and too much dying over a stupid throne," Rickon gave his review of this historical event. "The Targaryens never did things the right way."

Shireen chuckled. "You have a point, but it's interesting, isn't it? It makes you wonder why they did the things they did. Was it their brilliance or their madness? No one really knows." The mystery of it all was lost on him. All he did was roll his eyes and take a gander at Shaggydog, who surveyed the area around him. "I won't keep you, Princess Shireen. I'm going to head back in my tent and wait for Aza's return."

She nodded understandingly before looking down at Shaggy, waving at the direwolf. "Goodbye, Shaggydog and goodbye to you too, Lord Rickon. Once you see Aza, can you inform her I want to talk to her?"

"Aye," With a nod, Rickon left with Shaggydog following in tow.

 **AZA**

It had only taken but a maximum of two hours to gather as much game as they could find. The hunting trip somewhat reminded her of the day she and Jon Snow had looked for the snow bear and she had slightly hoped to find one again, just so she could avenge her honor from losing against one. Sadly, there were no bears like that this south of the Wall and so she tried her luck with stags, deers, rabbits, and many other animals that were a bit helpless but plentiful in such cold, snowy weather.

When she returned, Stannis sought her audience and so she followed the guard that informed her to Stannis' large tent. Once she stepped inside, she saw him in a seat, studying his chessboard. There were two stags pieces to represent House Baratheon which were opposing what she figured were two Bolton pieces.

"Your Grace." She did not want to wait and the silence was somewhat strange. Aza had no idea what to make of Stannis wanting to see her whatsoever.

"How much did the Wildlings find during their hunt?" he inquired. "Did they hunt enough to share with the rest of the army?"

She wanted to tell him that the rest of his army was unworthy of the game found but she bit her tongue. "Yes, if they're willing. Many of your men have been distant and the tension is boldly staring the Wildlings in the face," Aza tried to make him understand on why the small group wouldn't be so open to share the food that they hunted.

Stannis glanced at her, his eyes squinting rather sternly. That was his way of telling her to mind her tone without so much speaking it. "Before I left to hunt, I was curious as to why the Boltons seemed to only torch certain tents." She changed the subject to what she deemed equally important. "It only seems to me they only lit afire some of the soldiers tents as a mean to distract you from their real objective."

"And you think you have the Boltons figured out?" He reached for the Bolton piece, thumb pressing against the face of the man being flayed.

Aza nodded rather weakly since she wasn't too sure if what she assumed was right. "They burnt the food stores, the tents that housed the horses, and even the siege weapons. I think they are aware that the strongest unit of your army is your cavalry, Your Grace. They hoped to decimate it to force your army to be mostly made up of infantry, making the battle more of equal footing or in their favor, really."

He hadn't moved, holding the Bolton piece in his hand as his face was trained in thought. He was letting her words marinate and that's when he threw the chess piece across the room. "That's exactly what they did." A sharp huff left him, his head shaking and his jaw clenching. "Why didn't I see it earlier? It doesn't matter. The guards let them infiltrate. I've been made a fool already."

Not really sure how to respond, Aza remained silent and kept her eyes to the ground. Davos had soon lifted the tent flap and walked in, bowing his head respectfully as soon as he stood next to her. "You sent for me, Your Grace?" Davos briefly looked at her, almost silently asking why she was here, but she could offer him no means of silently informing him why she stood before Stannis.

"Find you some healthy horses and a few good men to guard you, I'm sending you back to Castle Black." Stannis' order had completely took her off-guard. It might've been the fact her that heart ached and swelled at the mention of the worn down place that felt like home in what would almost be four years in a matter of a month. "Tell the Lord Commander to send food, supplies, fresh horses. In return, when I take the throne, I'll make sure the Night's Watch has all the men it requires. He can guard all nineteen castles if he so wishes."

Was he a fool? He knew nothing of the struggle of Castle Black. Food and supplies? The Night's Watch were on their last rope and they needed all the food they can get for the upcoming Winter. Jon couldn't afford to give him anything or else they would die! "Your Grace," the words came out in a hurry, "the Watch does not have enough food to supply you with. They were already having a shortage during your stay and all the food that they have, they need for Winter is coming." She could almost slap herself for saying the House Stark words. They were true nonetheless and she would not have Stannis force them to starve over him not properly guarding his own food storage.

"I'll replenish all that I will require." His tone became very dull and his eyes flashed with warning. "Do not presume to think that I think so lowly of the Watch. It is because I think highly of the Lord Commander that I am inquiring for his help." Stannis was a proud and stubborn man. As Donal Noye once said, to make Stannis bend is to make him break. It must've hard enough to admit this much, but he wasn't thinking clearly.

Grinding her teeth, Aza found herself between a rock and a hard place. She was basically implying she should let his men starve since what other good alternative was there? They couldn't keep hunting or else the Boltons would pick up on it and unleashed another trick they probably had up their sleeves.

"While we're speaking on this matter, Your Grace, you've named me your Hand," Davos tried to remind him, for what reason Aza couldn't really understand.

Obviously annoyed by the both of them speaking the glaring obvious, he replied rather curtly; "Yes."

"The King's Hand should never abandon the King, especially in a time of war." Politics wasn't really her strong suit, but even she could guess that a Hand doesn't abandon his king in dire times.

"You're not abandoning me," clarified the King, "you're obeying a command."

 _A stupid and selfish command,_ Aza thought.

"A boy with a scroll could deliver this message." Davos still felt confusion over why he was given this mission.

"And if Jon Snow refuses a boy with a scroll, what does the boy say?" She would've rather had this mission, but she could not leave Rickon. Not even if it meant just to see Jon's face just once. Stannis placed his scroll on the table and stood while he spoke; "I didn't name you Hand for your expertise in military matters, ride for Castle Black, don't come back empty handed."

"Your Grace, perhaps the Queen and Princess Shireen could accompany me," the Onion knight suggested and Aza agreed with it. Why would it ever be safe for a queen and princess to be in a war camp? Stannis soon turned his back, indicating that this conversation was essentially over.

"My family stays with me."

Still, Davos pursued. "At least let me take Shireen. A siege is no place for a little girl."

There was a finality to Stannis' words and she felt the bite of them, like steel carving flesh. "My family _stays_ with me."

She could probably never guess why Stannis would rather keep Selyse and Shireen in danger. To question it, however, proved fruitless. Both Davos and herself left the tent quietly, falling in step with one another.

"Could I ask a favor of you, Aza?" he suddenly asked, and she felt like she already knew what he was going to request.

"If it is about the Princess then aye, Ser Davos, I will make sure that she is safe." She hoped her promise and her smile could ease his worries some. He looked relieved that he knew what he was going to ask in the first place. "I know how much you care for the Princess and I would not like to see her harmed or in Bolton hands either."

"Thank you." A sigh had left him and he looked utterly grateful. "I should bid my goodbyes to her. Safe travels to you and the Little Lord as well."

 **RICKON**

From what Rickon could see, they were building a pyre. Just one, single pyre and the Red Woman had watched the construction with an expression that made it seem like she was contented with herself. He remembered when they made a single pyre to burn Mance Rayder and how he was made to watch it with the rest of the Night's Watch. It was probably why he was halfway immune when some of the soldiers were burning and screaming alive since he saw it before happening to Mance. He saw no man bounded or restrained to let him know that they would be the sacrifice. Were they waiting for them? Was Melisandre still choosing who would it be? How did they just up and decide who would burn or not?

His heart seemed to drop to his stomach when he realized King Stannis had gone to Princess Shireen's tent. Could it be? No, it couldn't. Rickon refused to believe it. It just isn't possible that the King would burn his daughter alive to win some battle by gross means. But it worried him. It worried him of why it took so long for the King to leave and he had not seen Aza once. She had briefly visited him and told him she was going to rest for a while and he assumed that she was still resting.

Shaggydog remained at his side, quiet but alert. Rickon's eyes kept looking back between Aza's tent and then Shireen's, showing how nervous he was starting to feel. He then hurried his way towards Aza's tent, just to find seemingly empty. Where did she go? What was she doing? His eyes frantically searching around for a double check just to find in the corner of a tent a man gagged with a white cloth and bound by the wrists and ankles. His binds were chafing his skin red while trying to free himself.

"What… What is going on?" He couldn't help but say aloud, unsure of where Aza had gone and why she tied this man up. He ran from out of the tent, forcing the flaps to open wide as he stepped out. His eyes tried to look past the crowd to see that a flank of men were walking through a path that the crowd parted for them. Rickon slipped and ran through, making his way forward with a rough shove of his shoulders despite the fact the soldiers would move upon his approach since they knew he was considered by every means the Lord of Winterfell.

Once he made his way to the front, he saw Shireen standing before the Red Woman with the Pyre behind her.

No, it couldn't be…

 _She really was the sacrifice._

"Where's my father? I want to see my father!" Despite how scared she was, she held authority to her tone. She did not cower before the Red Priestess.

"It'll all be over soon," Melisandre tried to sound so sympathetic, making herself seem so sad for the girl she was willingly going to burn. She smirked as she gave hint to the guards to grab the girl by her shoulders to restrain her and stop her from fighting so that she could be bound to the pyre without too much of a fight.

Rickon stood aghast, his breathing labored due to his anger. His hands went to reach for the handles of his Falchions, but he stopped when he saw a sword's sharp end being pointed at Melisandre's neck. A free arm was outstretched, fisting the woman's fiery hair by the nape of her neck and pulling her back tightly so that her current position was that the sharp, edge of the sword's body was before her neck and could easy slit it open if the wielder desired.

The men that forcefully grabbed Shireen's arms didn't move, much too afraid to now that the Priestess was in danger. Other soldiers had drawn out their swords, but Stannis' controlled anger held them back from any rash decisions. "Don't move another inch and who said for any of you to draw your blades?" he said as he quickly marched forward, Queen Selyse practically fumbling behind him in bewilderment.

Melisandre was always so calm and controlled, but the fear was evident in her eyes as she looked at the blade so close to the pale skin of her neck. Rickon kept his hands on the handles of his Falchions, ready to move and act should any opportunity be so open for him to grasp.

"I know it's you, Aza." Stannis looked at the person garbed in his own soldier's uniform. Rickon had watched as Aza raised the helm some, unveiling a good portion of her face. She kept her eyes trained on Shireen, wanting to see for herself that the girl was kept out of harm. "Put the sword down and let Melisandre go." It was an order despite him not holding a good position to give out any considering the Priestess was just one mistake away from death.

Aza's brown eyes flickered to him, her lips dipping deep into a frown. "I once didn't think you so bad, Stannis." The lack of title made the king's hands ball up in tight fists where he stood. "I thought you would be a good king and that you were an admirable man, who knew that sometimes the means for the greater good isn't always accomplished with clean hands."

"But your daughter? Your only living, breathing child? You would watch her burn to win a battle? Just for the Iron Throne? Do you know how many mothers and fathers were torn from their children?! But you would rather send your own to death! It was never about the Long Night for you. You are obsessed with being king and I will not be your pawn and I will not let Shireen be one either. So I say this, King Stannis Baratheon, you let me leave with Rickon and Shireen or else I will slit Melisandre's throat. She will die and you will have to scramble your way to King's Landing without her visions!"

"She is my daughter!" Shireen trembled, not even because of the volume of her father's voice but because she was only his daughter whenever he felt her to be of use. She realized that now, and Rickon felt sorry she had to suffer through this.

"That's not my demand!" shouted Aza, eyes ablaze with fury. "Let me leave with Rickon and Shireen or she will die! Give me an answer or else I finally put this madness to an end!"

All Aza did was push Melisandre's head forward ever so gently, cutting a small thin line above her ruby choker. It began to immediately bleed to show how much she meant her words. "Let go of Shireen and free a path," Aza found her calm again. Her voice was eerily-leveled.

Rickon looked at Stannis' cold fury in his eyes that could surge through anyone except for Aza. She stared back into his eyes, not fearing him for a moment. The King could've turned into fire itself and she would be ready to fight the flames.

"Let Shireen go," he finally spoke again, looking at the guards who kept their hands gripping tightly on the Princess' arms. Shireen was free but she looked unsure, confused, sad, and afraid.

"How could you, Father?" Shireen finally let her tears burst forth, spilling down her face like rivers. It was like she was still in shock. Still not able to comprehend her father was evil enough to sacrifice her for victory. Rickon waltzed over, feet practically stomping through the snow as he made his way. He pulled her gently by her loose grey sleeve and while it seemed at first that she didn't want to move, she did. She stood behind him. Despite her being taller, she kept behind him like he could shield or hide her.

Aza moved, slowly, making sure Melisandre did not purposely try to trip her or outmaneuver herself from out of her hold. Aza glared at Stannis as she walked by him while Rickon made sure to take some steps back to cover her back, Falchions unsheathed and hands itching to kill. Shaggydog's throaty snarl was lthe oudest sound among this large army and soon a good portion of the Wildlings had their axes, swords, and spears brandished and pointed them all at the Baratheon soldiers.

When the distance was reasonable, Aza lowered the sword from Melisandre's neck and roughly pushed her forward. She muttered some words, words that seemed to surprise the Priestess yet did not make Aza falter her angry gaze. Melisandre had smoothed her skirts, straightened her shoulders, and raised her chin before she set her elegant stride forward, heading her way back to Stannis' side where she seemed to belong.

They could finally leave and as promised. Aza let the Priestess go unharmed just as she said she would and Rickon knew she would've because she always means what she says. He made it his priority to keep Shireen close as a lump sum of only ten Wildlings made a protective wall around them, weapons still brandished to show they held no trust. At fight wouldn't break loose, at least hope it wouldn't. The chaos of it all would be almost inescapable, but all hopes had been set aflame in just a single moment.

His eyes went as wide as they possibly could as he watched Aza fall down to her knees. The arrow was stuck to her, blood pouring down from the wound and painting her clothes a wet black since the color couldn't overshadow it. She fell back, head hitting the snow in a soft thud and before he could scream or even utter her name, a battle was born.

 **JON**

There is an ache that comes and goes, always returning in quiet moments spent with only himself. Her absence seemed to drown him more than he imagined it would. It's a cruelty that the sun continues to rise and set, welcoming in and saying goodbye a new day devoid of her laughter or even her grumpy complaints and sarcastic commentary. He was longing to hear her snort at something stupid he said or ask him what was going on in that head of his and blame her curiosities of him on boredom because she hates voicing all her care sometimes. He wanted to see her clothes scattered around his tower room floor and watch her use the back of her heels to take her boots off and wiggle her toes happily when her feet are free.

He thought to write her. In fact, he wrote several letters but all of them felt cringe-worthy and infantile when he read them over. He was embarrassed by all the thoughts he written down and threw each and every scrap of a letter in the fire. He would just have to find a way to cope and stall the ghosts of her that he sees in his head, wandering his tower room and the halls of Castle Black. He has to stop thinking he sees her in the courtyard with the rangers and stop himself from looking around, thinking he heard her voice when he know he hasn't.

The month was halfway over, but to him it feels years have gone by. The passage of time is suppose to dull things, but it never has. At least, not for him. He doubted this kind of pain will just up and leave someday, so he decided to distract himself with Samwell and a drink of dark beer in the library that doesn't help make him temporarily forget her. Samwell hadn't known all of that happened during Hardhome, and so it was really up to him to retell the events.

"He raised his hands," Jon said, mind recapturing that very moment that the Night King had raised all the corpses of the Wildlings back in Hardhome. "And they all stood up at once. Tens of thousands of them, the biggest army in the world."

"So what are you gonna do?" Samwell asked that as if the answer was so simple. Or perhaps, he just believed too much in him and thought he would know. Isn't that how things are? People keep looking at him as if he's supposed to just know what to do. It was never what are _we_ going to do. It was what _he_ was going to do. For the life of him, Jon was afraid to think Ygritte right; _"You know nothing, Jon Snow."_

"I'm gonna hope they don't learn how to climb the Wall." It may have sounded like jest, but Jon had honestly meant it. He took a gulp of his beer, trying to drink himself in a state of calm because his nerves are still on the edge from Hardhome events and his mind keeps swimming in a maelstrom of memories.

"But…" Samwell wore a look of complete confusion. "The dragonglass?"

All Jon could was shake his head. It was now a lost cause, that dragonglass. "No one's ever getting that back, now. It wouldn't have mattered anyway unless we had a mountain of it." A mountain and then some, really.

"But…" Sam began again, brows furrowing. "You killed a White Walker."

"With Longclaw," Jon quickly explained. He was much too far away from the dragonglass at the time, but Aza informed him that Rickon and herself used some dragonglass to kill just one White Walker. "I saw them shatter steel axes like they were glass. But Longclaw is…" He glanced over to the sword that Mormont had given to him what felt like a lifetime ago. Just where would he be without that sword, Jon sometimes pondered.

"He's Valyrian steel. How many Valyrian steel swords are left in the Seven Kingdoms?" Samwell asked as if anyone really knew the answer to that.

"Not enough." A silence fell for a short moment. Aza's sword was made of Valyrian steel and his father's was as well; the famous Ice. What happened to Ice when his father died? He never really found out or had any means of finding out. All he could assume was that the Lannisters must've kept it. They weren't honorable enough to return a Valyrian steel sword back with his father's remains to Winterfell. "The first Lord Commander in history to sacrifice the lives of sworn brothers to save the lives of Wildlings. How's it feel to be friends with the most hated man in Castle Black?" He couldn't help but smile as thought of all the looks of scorn that Alliser, Olly, and every other brother of the Night's Watch had given him since his return.

As always, Samwell looked at the bright side of things. Someone needed to in this life they had to endure. "You were friends with me when I first got here." Jon's smile stayed, remembering how Samwell was some sort of pariah to the new recruits and called many names. Pypar's name for him seemed to come across his mind once in awhile; Prince Porkchop. "And I wasn't winning any elections back then."

While Samwell was right, Jon didn't want to clarify the huge difference. Jon wasn't so well-loved either when he first walked into this place, but that was what made him want to initially be friends with Sam. "Here's to us then." Jon raised his white cup. "Long may they sneer."

Their cups clinked and they both took a nice swig of the beer before setting them back down to the table. Before Jon could think of something to say, he noticed that Samwell looked rather apprehensive about something. "What?" he said, wondering if he was prepared for whatever his friend had to say.

"I wanted to ask you something." Samwell would look at the table in thought and back up at him, still unsure to say what he wanted to say. "To ask something of you. Send me, Gilly, and the baby to Oldtown so I can become a Maester. That's what I'm meant to be, not this."

He was shocked but most of all, he was hurt. Out of all the things he held dear to him, Samwell was the last person he cared so heavily about in the Night's Watch. "I need you here, Sam." Jon practically pleaded, almost asking with his eyes for Samwell not to do this. Not to convince him to consent to this idea. "If you leave, who's left to give me advice I trust?" He's careful not to say _"you're all I have left"_ because the last thing he ever wants to do is guilt Sam to stay. That's too much and too wrong for him to say.

Sam briefly looked away in thought. "Well, there's Edd."

Jon gave him a hard stare. A stare that indefinitely as well as clearly read _"you can't be serious"_ to that suggestion. Edd was loyal, brave, and could fight… but he hardly knew a damn thing worth knowing about.

"I'll be more use to you as a Maester," Samwell pleaded what was a good case. A Maester was important and they sadly had none. "More use to everyone now that Aemon's gone. The Citadel has the world's greatest library. I'll learn about history, strategy, healing. And other things. Things that will help when they come."

Jon didn't want to say yes. He didn't want to say anything. Everything his best friend had said was true and he had knew it. "If Gilly stays here then she'll die. And the baby that she named after me will die. And I'll end up dying, too, trying to protect them. Which means that the last thing that I'll see in this world will be the look in her eyes when I fail them." Samwell suddenly stopped talking, giving pause to add more weight to his words. "I'd rather see a thousand White Walkers than see that."

Samwell was in love. He knew it for a while but this had completely cement it. It was no childish fancy that he originally had for Gilly when they first met her. It was deeper now and Samwell was in that same position that he was in; a place where you desperately want to cling to something you know that you had no business desiring or keeping. Jon had lost what he loved and he couldn't do the same to Samwell. He could be jealous all he wanted, but he would not be both jealous and cruel. So he breathed in and then out, going over it all in his head quickly again.

His head did a somber nod, confirming that he had approved this. Samwell's smile made it seem worth agreeing. "Thank you," said Sam, sounding absolutely grateful.

Grey eyes glanced down at the nearly empty cup of beer in his hands before giving Samwell a pointed look. "You know that the Citadel will make you swear off women, too." Just like the Night's Watch, but did Jon listen? Fuck no. Temptation came and he dived into it with little coaxing, and little self-resistance.

With a snort, Samwell looked so stubborn. "They'll bloody try."

At first Jon thought he heard him wrong. Increduously, he looked to his friend to confirm what he heard. "Sam?"

The slight was nervous yet all-around cheeky. "What?" he replied and his voice gave it all away.

" _Sam_ …" Jon repeated, still quite shocked. All his friend could do was muster a smile, making himself giddy. "You've just been beaten half to death. How did you—"

The smile seemed so mischievous as he answered, "Very carefully."

All Jon could conjure up to do was smile and let out a small laugh. He felt somewhat proud that Samwell was braver now to finally rid himself of his virginity. "I'm glad the end of the world's working out for someone." Those words shouldn't have left him. It gave too much insight to Jon's own loneliness and how it feels that the world is being carried on his shoulders.

Silence was all that basked in for a moment before Samwell's tried to reassure him. "I'll come back," Jon wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe in something good, even if it was as small as that.

Jon raised his cup again, for luck. For hope. "To your return."

"To my return," Samwell said as they clinked cups again and Jon's cup was completely empty now. There wasn't even a taste of beer left. "Castle Black seems so…" Tarly tilted his head, trying to find the words that seemed right to him. "It seems so lifeless without her."

He had hoped their conversation wouldn't drive itself towards her. She was all he thought about and it was Samwell who he could speak so freely with about Aza. Jon sighed softly, his thumb lightly pressing against the cold and sleek side of his cup. "I miss her." It was that simple. Honest-to-gods how he felt. "Did I ever tell you that when I first saw her, I felt something and I couldn't understand what it was?" Jon canted his head, remembering the confusion he felt that day when her eyes stared right into his own for what felt like a short moment of forever. "I felt like I already knew her but I didn't." Jon shook his head, wondering if he was talking nonsense—better yet, he assumed himself to be rambling at this point. "And then I ignored it because I thought she was a stupid Southern boy too far up his own ass to notice it was snowing."

Samwell laughed at that, looking down at his drink since he still had some more. "She told me she thought you were mad and here you were thinking she was stupid," he said, finding humor in it all. "She'll come back too and when you see each other again, I'm sure it'll feel like nothings changed."

And just how long will that be? Will he be dead by the time his eyes laid upon her again? Aza will outlive him, he's sure of that. Even if he found himself so tired and skeptical of this supposed promised prince, she was meant do great things. Aza, as much as she hated to admit it, held the sweet desire to change the world. He could see it in her eyes as she spoke to Rickon, how she spoke of Shireen, and how she looked at the rangers with hope.

She held hope just as much as he did despite all that happened; all that transpired in their lives could not deter them. Hope lived in them and the will to fix things caught on fire in their veins and could not be burnt out. "I would say here's to hopeful thinking but I'm all out and should have no more to drink." He couldn't get himself drunk. Jon would be no use to anyone like that.

"I'll drink to it. Raise your cup and I'll drink to hopeful thinking." Samwell's encouragement was enough for Jon to go through with this half-empty cheer and lighten his mood for all that lied ahead.

 **AZA**

The pain seared through her shoulder akin to a branding iron that somehow managed to burn a person from the inside. For the first few days, her mind kept conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion due to the sharp pain. When she woke up, she wanted to curl her body into something fetal while the pain burn and radiated. Aza did her best not to place her hand on her shoulder to aggravate the wound. It was just her, Rickon, and Shireen and she needed to be strong.

Rickon told her all the chaos that ensued when she fell unconscious. Alvar, a Wildling, had given them a horse and laid her across across the animal's back while Rickon and Shireen tried to keep themselves atop of the horse to ride as far as they could until the horse could not go a mile or even a step more. When she regained consciousness, she woke up to find that they were in the wilderness of the North. She had told Rickon to kill the horse since she was in no shape to hunt, Shireen could barely hold a dagger, and she did not want Rickon to stray too far because they could not trust these lands. Their only source of transportation was now their only source of food that they would have for a while.

"Are you feeling better?" The sweet voice of the once princess filled her ears. Aza gave Shireen a sincere smile that was becoming much of a struggle to keep. "Is it time to change the bandages? I can help, if it is."

"I'm fine, Princess." It wasn't that she hadn't trusted Shireen, she did not want to look weak. While Rickon could defend himself, Shireen needed a show of strength. She could not think that a boy years younger than her was her only source of protection or else should any situation that needed them quick on their feet, she would panic immediately. She needed reassurance and Aza had to prove herself capable even while in this somewhat sorry state.

Aza unfastened the Baratheon army surcoat and peeled the tunic she wore beneath it back to see the cloth used for bandages were soaked with blood. She needed fresh cloth and some medicine on the wound, but she had neither. "There's a village up ahead," said Rickon with a mouthful of cooked horse meat. "I think it was one of the many that was raided by the Wildlings."

She could get clean cloth there and maybe mix some medicine together for a poultice and they could sleep on a nice cot for a night. They probably weren't too far from Castle Black, and there was no real need to hurry since it would still be the same no matter what pace they chose. She did, however, wanted to let Jon know that she was forced to return, but there no ravens to send him. "We should go then," Aza fixed her tunic and tried to fasten her surcoat with one hand. "We can't stay here out in the open like this."

They ate all that their stomachs would allow of the horse meat that they cooked on skinny sticks before traveling again. Shaggy ate a good portion of the carcass, not letting her feel bad that food and a good horse was wasted. Aza never liked to waste things since she came from a poor childhood. When having so much coin to do anything she wanted, she still tended not to waste things because it was ingrained in her not to. She treated food and horses humbly and lived recklessly and lavishly in other ways.

The pain of her shoulder kept her slumping as she walked. That wasn't even the worse of the matter, her eyes wanted to cross whenever the stinging and burning flared and then suddenly stop, giving her a false sense of relief. Just moving the damn shoulder or her arm was enough to make her want to scream, but she bit her cheek and kept going and cursed Stannis Baratheon to all Seven Hells. She knew it was him. He had to be the one that let loose the arrow or at least ordered someone to do it. Whether if it was by his hand or not, he was the reason why she was struck and she bet he hoped the broad arrowhead went through her heart. He didn't know she was much too stubborn to die. That the gods had use of her and wouldn't give her to the Stranger just yet, even if she got on her hands and knees and begged for his kiss.

The blood loss was already starting to get at her. Despite the fact that she had done the right thing and ate, her stomach wanted to give out. It felt like her innards were being replaced by something that wanted to swallow her whole. Nausea crept from Aza's abdomen and to her head, threatening to make the world go black. She wasn't far from the village and they only had to move at least a good mile or two.

"Are you alright?" questioned Rickon, already looking worried all over again.

"I'm fine," she opted to lie because she did not want them to stop walking, not even for a few minutes. "It'll be night soon and we need to get there while there is still some light of day left." Let the Seven be with them and not have them hopelessly wandering in the dark of the night. _"The night is dark and full of terrors,"_ Melisandre and her mad Red God had not lied about that.

He wanted to say something and chose not to, probably because he knew they would end up arguing if he tried to convince her for a break. Shireen kept close to her, eyes steadily observing her from their corners and proving if Aza were to fall that she would be the one to catch her. At least Shireen was silent about her choice of action. Rickon would make the stubborn feel worthless in his care.

Using all the strength she had, she had made it and collapsed on the floor in one of the small houses built of log. Shireen tried to help her up despite her being smaller and weaker, but the girl of five-and-ten was determined to get her to a cot and she did it with Rickon's help. Aza laid her back flat on the weathered bed and made sure they were careful when they brought her down or else her shoulder would have her scream to the heavens.

"What kind of medicine should we look for?" Rickon quickly asked, entirely anxious to do something after ordering Shaggydog to guard the door. He also had rested both Flyssa and his Falchions at the corner of the room.

"Damn if I know," mumbled Aza. How would she know? She was no healer. Had no way of knowing healing properties in certain plants or what thing did what. All she knew how to do was kill and now, she realized, she could single-handedly mess up a man's army over her stupid moral compass. She could cauterized this damned thing and be done with it. They knew what poultice to put on burns and so that would make it all easier. Aza didn't care about the scar it would leave, she just didn't want to bleed to death.

"There should be some Yarrow leaves," said Shireen, looking around the room in hopes to find some. Who would leave medicinal herbs laying around? Aza hardly knew, but she couldn't find it in herself to encourage her to stop looking. "Most lowborn people use them since they're quicker to enter battle than highborns."

"Do you even know what they look like?" Rickon didn't hesitate to question her.

The princess stiffened and gave him an uneasy smile. "They look like… leaves?" Aza could laugh at the awkward and short explanation. If it weren't for the pain in her shoulder, she would've scolded Rickon to not look so annoyed since Shireen was only trying to help.

"All leaves look like leaves!" Rickon spat while crossing his arms, reminding her very much of a pouty Jon Snow with just a little more of a wild wolf in him. "What are we supposed to do?

"I'll find them and I'll make sure they're the right ones." Although she looked somewhat discouraged, Shireen hadn't likened herself to resort to not doing nothing at all. "You'll have to clean the wound. Use some snow and let it melt it into water and put it in the iron pot over the fire." He seemed unsure of whether to follow her directions. It wasn't until Aza gave him an encouraging nod to follow her suggestion that he left the small log house to gather some snow for water.

There was so much on her mind that she wished sleep would take her so that she didn't have to think at all. But sleep wouldn't have her and the pain makes it hard for her to set her body in a state of calm. So she sat up, just enough so that she could take off this surcoat and loosen the tunic to free her injured shoulder again. Her tunic was sticking to her wound since the blood had soaked through the bandages. Aza pulled at the material from the wound, hissing as she did before removing the wet bandages. Blood poured slow and steady from the arrow wound.

The size of the wound wasn't great, it was just that it went clean through that was the issue. It should be sewn but the three of them had no expertise in that, so she would have to settle for those leaves Shireen mentioned to stop the flow of the blood until she was in better hands. Aemon was dead, however, and so the Watch was without a proper Maester. Hopefully, at least one of them had known what to do or she would have to go the Wildlings to see if they had someone capable of stitching.

It took a while before Rickon carried a steaming bucket of water into the room, struggling some and being careful not to spill any on himself. He set it down at a reasonable place and hesitantly pulled the cloth out of the hot water and wrung it. Aza stretched her arm, her hand waiting for him to give her the cloth to clean this wound herself until he slapped her hand away, shaking his head roughly. Furrowing her brows, Aza pried her lips apart but then quickly settled not to argue. If he wanted to clean it for her, she wouldn't deny him of it.

Rickon examined it and grimaced some, probably because the red of blood kept oozing from it, showing that there was certainly some minimal internal damage. Tenderly, Rickon patted the skin with the warm-water dipped cloth, wiping away layer after layer of blood from her flesh, until there was only an angry pink and red gash remaining. There was still too much blood pouring from the wound for their liking and it would be wise to hurry up and place the leaves on both front and exit wound.

"You can resent me if you want, Rickon." Her eyes kept their focus on his face, her head slightly canted as he kept himself concentrated on the task at hand. "Stannis could've taken you home but I ruined that chance to save Shireen. You can hate me as long as you like." Aza was so determined to save Shireen that she had forgotten about that she ruined the chances for Rickon to go back home; to be in Winterfell and have it fully belong to the Starks again.

He got up and dipped the cloth back into the water, washing away the blood and to retouch her wound with warm water again. He was quiet, almost like he didn't want to speak and it only made her feel as though he must've held some resentment towards her because she was the reason they were in this situation. "I don't resent you," Rickon finally replied. He made his way back to her, but she took the cloth from him to clean the back of her shoulder where the exit wound was since he only cleaned the front. It proved too painful for her to twist and turn so her back could face him. "I was unsure of whether I wanted to go back home because it wouldn't be the same."

It had saddened her that she never really asked Rickon on how he felt about going home. She just assumed he wanted to go back and never thought anything of it. Aza turned back around, raising her free hand to rest it atop of Rickon's head to gingerly rub his head. "I understand how you feel. A home only feels like home when the people you love are there." His lips curled up into a smile that seemed to melt her weary heart.

Shireen had re-entered the room, looking disheveled. She pushed two leaves forward to show them that they must've been the Yarrow leaves that she spoke about. "I'm sure these are the leaves!" Out of breath but confident, she quickly hurried forward until she was at her bedside.

"Alright then," Aza said before looking back and forth between the both of them. Rickon will press one leave to the back and you the front while I bandage it." Shireen and Rickon nodded understandingly as Aza hoped that these were the right leaves and the wound would finally be eased into closing on its own. The both of them put the leaves over both front and exit wound while she began to wind these new, clean bandages. She was also trying to withstand as much of the jostling and movement she had to do. Once the bandages had been set, Aza looked at the both of them, their faces showing how tired they were. "Lie down, the both of you. We'll have to get moving tomorrow before it snows heavy again."

Shireen laid on her left side and Rickon laid on her right, letting her be nestled right between them. They couldn't move much in their spots since there wasn't much of a bed for that, but with the both of them curled towards her and quickly fell asleep.

This was her life now, she humorously thought. Aza, former man of the Night's Watch, once a sellsword, and now a protector of highborn children.

 **JON**

It was almost as though he was both his adult self and childish self simultaneously. As if he never fully managed to grow up—part of him left behind in childhood, possibly because his emotions, so tightly reined in, could not manage to grow or mature. Yet, Jon still seemed to retain the innocence (yet not the naïvety so much) and on the occasion, the emotions of his childish self; a young boy with outstanding deductive and analytic powers but still, at heart, a child. A normal child, he was once, with a sense of adventure, perhaps having more pride than most, and full of emotion.

 _"Kill the boy and let the man be born."_

When Aza left, with Aemon's death, and Samwell's departure… Jon thought it best to lock up his emotions and throw away the key. An emotional Lord Commander could not protect the realm nor fight for the Watch. An emotional Lord Commander was not good to anyone, even more so to himself against the fight ahead of them. He was once so adept at hiding his broken insides, but now? He could not hide them. He was not only broken, he was full of rage; rage on top of rage on top of rage.

Davos had came back to the Wall to speak in Stannis' name, pleading for help that Jon could not offer because he had nothing to give. Food and supplies? He barely had food to keep feeding the Watch, little supplies for the upcoming Winter, and yet Stannis thought Jon had absolutely no sense to give him all he had and wait, twiddling his thumbs, until Stannis took the Iron Throne. But that was not what enraged him. What enraged him was Melisandre's return and she had bear no good news. Not of Rickon, not of Stannis, and not of Aza…

 _"An arrow took her. I know not whether she survived it, but your brother and Princess Shireen had went off with her. On my way here, I did not see nor meet them."_

If they had taken off before Melisandre left then why were they not here? Why did they not come back to Castle Black? Where were they? Question after question he asked her about what happened to have caused all of this and yet the Priestess chose silence after telling him Aza's muddied fate. She had nothing to say to either him or Davos. Jon had no sign to know if Aza was even still alive.

Anger boiled deep in his system, as hot as lava; hotter than Dragon's fire. It churned within, hungry for destruction, and it was becoming too much for him to handle. The pressure of this raging sea of anger wanted him to say things he did not mean, or to express thoughts that he suppressed for weeks.

He kept everyone away before he erupted in his furious state. Jon hoped—no, he was absolutely sure that he knew—that this feeling will pass because in his heart, he somehow knew she was still alive. Aza has fought all her life, put herself in danger since she learned to use a sword, and it would not be an arrow that drains her of life. She was not so easily beaten. It just wouldn't be that simple.

It takes time, a few inhales and exhales, before he emerged himself from the anger he possessed. Having that rage dissipate in him felt nice, and he felt calmer than he had before. Now that he managed to pull himself together again, he looked around his tower room to see the scrolls he had once piled on his desk had been scattered everywhere.

It was a tedious task, picking them all up and stacking them again, but he had done it in silence. By the last scroll, a few knocks rapped at his door and Olly entered. "Lord Commander," he said, just albeit in a hurry. Any other time Jon would wonder why Olly had come to see him seeing as though the boy harbored contempt him for now due to the choice he made in regards of the Wildlings. "It's one of the Wildlings you brought back, says he knows your Uncle Benjen. Says he's still alive."

His uncle was… alive? No, he couldn't be. It has been so long since he had gone missing that it only made sense that he was dead. "Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?" Jon asked, still unable to decide whether to believe this or not. He wanted to. He wanted to think Benjen was alive and in one piece.

"Says he was First Ranger," Olly replied, sounding sure of what he was saying. "Said he knows where to find him."

Now wasn't the time to settle in doubt. He rushed out of his room, leaving the Commander's Tower not even bothering to grab a cloak for he hadn't cared about the cold. He hurried down the stairs outside, Ser Alliser meeting him at the end of the stairs.

"Man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome the last full moon," Alliser bothered to explain. Normally he wouldn't have been so kind to do that. It took Jon some time to shield his hands from the cold by slipping on his gloves.

"He could be lying," said Jon, hoping that none of this was a lie. What could a Wildling gain about lying about this anyway?

"Could be. There are ways to find out." Alliser didn't sound too enthused about any of this. Almost like he had hoped that Benjen would stay missing. Jon never did know if the two of them had got along much, but Alliser did seem to hold some respect for Benjen.

Scanning around the courtyard, he couldn't seem to come across the Wildling that both Olly and Alliser spoke of. "Where is he?" he finally asked.

"Over there." There had been a group of brothers, three of them held torches in their hands, facing and looking at someone. He slipped past two men since there was a clear path separating the rest of them in two large groups. He was supposed to be standing before a Wildling with information of his Uncle Benjen's whereabouts, but all he found was a cross, a sign, that read in bold letters:

 **TRAITOR**

 _Traitor?_ He repeated the word in his head, over and over and over again. Confusion came first and then the dawning realization that he was the one they deemed the traitor. _"The Wildling Lover,"_ both Alliser and Janos Slynt called him when he freshly came back from North of the Wall. Their words had spoon fed the fears of the brothers that believed them and followed them until they were utterly full of distrust for their own Lord Commander. Jon turned to confront them despite knowing that he was completely cornered, but Alliser stood before him and soon dagger met flesh and made a loud squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to force him to let out a guttural choke mixed with an agonized gasp.

"For the Watch."

* * *

 **A/N** : Gonna leave ya'll with that because I'll never be able to sit there and write that scene of them stabbing him to death. It still hurts.

I can't reply to reviews because I'm visiting some family and their wifi is always terrible. Lmao. So, every time I tried to, it ends up cutting off on me and I had to write it over and over. I can only promise to reply to reviews after this. I hope none of you hate me for this because the next chapter is gonna be worse.


	19. Chapter 18: When the Lone Wolf dies

**JON**

 _"You have to promise me something, Jon."_

The dagger twisted inside him, all the while sinking its sharp blade deeper and deeper. Jon's skin was tearing as the blade rotated; sounds of his muscles and nerves being gouged growing loud like his heartbeat in his ears.

"For the Watch."

 _"You can't die. Never. Even when you're old, you have to live just for me."_

Resounding in his head is that promise he knew was too cruel to keep. And he can hear himself uttering that foolish _"I promise"_ when he should've said nothing. Aza's words were splintering inside him, causing more torment than the stabbings themselves. The promise only serves to remind him that he'll be forced to break it.

Without warning, another blade had disappeared inside him again, the handle of it pushing against his broken skin.

"For the Watch."

Jon's hand pressed to the closest gaping wound on his stomach, his fingers welled with warm blood as he tried to keep himself standing. He had to live. No matter how many brothers had stabbed him and how deep their daggers would go inside him, he made a promise and he had to keep it. Aza would hate him for breaking it, but would it be better to have her resent him than to have her grieve for him? It breaks his heart to think of her possessed by grief. She never was good at losing things, he somberly thought. She has to stay away. She has to stay wherever she is and never come back to Castle Black. He's going to die. They won't stop stabbing him until he's dead.

"For the Watch."

The pain that once ached like fire had faded away to an icy state of numbness. Black was filling the edges of his vision. He kept swallowing the blood that seemed to fill his mouth for he did not want to give Alliser and the others the satisfaction of how far gone he nearly was.

"For the Watch."

His body soon began convulsing, trembling, and more thick blood was flowing freely from the gaping holes in his stomach. The crowd of the true traitors moved, letting Olly walk through until he stood clearly before him. Jon knew Olly hated him, but to this extent? To want him to die? This boy that he had cared for… This boy he tried to fill an empty part of him that longed to be a brother to Bran again. "Olly," Jon struggled to say his name.

But it hadn't mattered.

Olly's dagger had plunged in deep, its the honed edge had went cleanly through his heart. But it was not truly his heart Olly sunk his blade into. It was a shadow of the organ living inside his chest for his heart already fled to place he did not know.

"For the Watch."

He stayed there, on his knees, for as long as he could muster. Jon did not fall backwards onto the snow by choice, his body had failed him and lost all the fight he tried to keep flowing in his veins. _Was this how you felt too, Robb?_ he thought, his voice somber even in his own head. _They said your wife was dead before you, but did you think of her every second? Did you curse yourself to all Seven hells because you did not protect her?_ If only… _Ghost,_ he found himself wanting to mutter but instead keeping the direwolf's name in thought.

Death pulled at him, shrouding his vision until it was all black. _As black as his bastard heart._ Under these blankets of stars, in a puddle of his own blood, Jon took his last breath of air.

 **AZA**

The days were growing colder, almost as freezing and harsh as the Land of Always Winter. It was by luck that there was enough food and supplies to take from the empty houses of the village they stayed in or else they would have been worse off. Shireen was not used to the cold and her teeth would continuously chatter despite how hard she tried to clench them to keep her from doing so. When the new wool, long-sleeved clothes had not been enough, Aza rested her cloak on the girl's shoulder to keep her warm.

Shireen held her hand after the gesture, also using her for support as they trudged through the thick and white blanket of snow. Rickon was just a good feet ahead of them with Shaggydog at his side, who trotted with absolute ease and kept eyes surveying the area with little interest and mostly caution.

It was growing too dark to keep traveling and while they stayed away from the Kingsroad due to how unsafe it was, she still found the dark to be troublesome. "We're going to make camp here," Aza thoughtfully decided, thinking they made good distance. She couldn't pinpoint exactly how far they were, but she could somewhat remember Davos once saying this place was near Last Hearth where House Umber is seated. Not only that, the Wall didn't seem so far from here. In fact, it looked much closer than where they were this morning.

Rickon nodded in agreement about camp, taking the logs he had been carrying since they left the small village to make a fire. He quickly learned how to set up a campfire without help and fire latched quickly onto the wood right when he started it. It grew large enough to radiate heat for someone to get warm while sitting around it in light of the Wintry feel of the weather.

Aza sat in the snow with her hands hovering over the orange flames and Rickon and Shireen huddled themselves close to her, sharing their cloaks to give the three of them more warmth than the fire could give. She had taught them to use it for each other, but the two were stubborn and worried about her no matter how many times she claimed to be fine. After traveling North of the Wall, she had grown used to temperatures much worse than what they were currently dealing with. Of course, she had fur clothes back then and now she had Baratheon armor, which had done well for now.

"Why did you do it?" Shireen suddenly asked, her head resting against Aza's shoulder. Her eyes stared away at the orange flames doing their wild, flickering dance.

The Summer Islander looked towards her right at the small girl of five-and-ten, wondering what exactly she was asking her. "Why did I do what?"

"Why did you save me?" The question wasn't all that surprising. In fact, Aza wondered why the princess hadn't asked sooner. "How did you even know that my father was going to…" She couldn't finish the sentence, keeping the rest of it hanging in the air since it was clear what she meant to say.

"I promised Ser Davos that I would you keep you safe," began Aza, still remembering Davos' worried gaze and how she felt the man's fear was a lot deeper than what he presented to her. It should've been a little more clear to her of what he was fearful for, but Aza hadn't noticed it much at first. "But _I_ also wanted for you to be safe." She made that clear, not wanting Shireen to think that she had no intention of protecting her even if Davos had not asked that of her. "I didn't know your father decided for you to be the sacrifice. I had asked one of the soldiers if they knew who it would be but they wouldn't tell me anything. With good reason, too. They were afraid of what I would do if I knew and I suppose their fears were right, yeah?"

"So that's why that man was in your tent? You tied him up and took his clothes." Aza wondered how much of a sight that must've been for Rickon as he put the pieces together. A half naked man in his small clothes, tied and gagged. "But…" Rickon's brows began furrow while in thought. "If you didn't know it was to be the Princess then why did you disguise yourself?"

"I was afraid it could've been you or one of the Wildlings," she explained to Rickon, "and while I didn't know for sure it would be Shireen, I found some of the things that the King said and done to be very… strange." She couldn't say that she had a hunch that Stannis would do something terrible. How would Shireen be able to handle that her father didn't even take a day to decide to burn his daughter for victory? The fact that he decided this at all was already heartbreaking enough. "Me dressing like one of his own let me hide in plain sight in case some of my fears were true."

Aza felt skinny arms wrap themselves around the arm of the shoulder Shireen laid her head on. The girl squeezed tight as her tears began wetting the material of the grey sleeve. "Thank you for saving me." Sadness flooded Aza, hearing how her voice was thin and weak; full of the desire to cry.

Aza laid her cheek atop of Shireen's head as she spoke; "You were worth saving, Princess."

Shireen kept her face against Aza's arm, crying like there was too much raw pain inside her that could no longer be contained. The Princess put on a brave battle, fighting her pain for this long, and it was the best time as any for her to let this pain finally be put to rest. There were no soothing words Aza could think of that would ever make much of a difference at this time. Shireen sounded like she was beyond all reasons and beyond all methods of calming. It was probably best to let the storm inside her run its course or else she feared the girl would bottle it all in and never gain relief.

Aza and Rickon kept quiet, sadly listening to the song that was Shireen's sobs. They soon died down and all that there was to be heard were light snores. Aza smiled some, glancing down at Shireen's tear-stained, sleeping face. "What are we going to do with her when we go back to Castle Black?" Rickon suddenly asked, pulling her attention away from the Princess and at the conversation at hand.

He did pose a point. What were they going to do when they returned to Castle Black? She would have to head to the Gift first, change her clothes, and act as if she had always been there so suspicions about her absence would dissipate. But how can it be explained that Shireen, a princess, came all the way back here by herself? She wouldn't have made it. It would be too suspicious. The Wildlings didn't very much like her either, considering her "unclean" due to the greyscale that marked her face and wouldn't feel comfortable with her in their settlement.

What was Davos himself going to do if the worse happened to Stannis? If he did not take Winterfell then… Then Davos had no king to serve. Shouldn't he go back home? Go back to his wife and raise Shireen like she was his very own daughter. He could properly let her run Dragonstone by pleading to King Tommen to protect his "cousin" who had nothing to do with her father, who she must declare a traitor. It would be easier for her to just swear fealty to him and never look back.

"I don't know," Aza answered him truthfully. "I _truly_ don't know."

"Jon will know," Rickon said with certainty. Aza couldn't help but snort, adoring Rickon's strong belief in his brother but also feeling childish that she had felt the same.

"He might." There was still a chance that he might not know. Jon had enough pressures and it wasn't really in his jurisdiction to decide on what happened to Princess Shireen. "If Stannis does take Winterfell and you go back, you do know he will want you to swear fealty, don't you?" She'd be damned, really, to let Rickon bend the knee for Stannis after what he had done. But it wouldn't be right of her because he deserved to go back home. A Stark should be back in Winterfell.

"I can always just call myself King in the North," Rickon's reply surprised her, causing her eyes to slightly widen as he gave her a roguish grin. She couldn't think of anything else to do but chuckle. Aza was surely amazed at this boy's spiked confidence. "Robb didn't want to swear his fealty to the Baratheons or the Lannisters, I could do the same."

"That'll be somethin', yeah? Stannis did get letters from Northern lords saying they would only swear their fealty to a Stark. I could help you gather yourself an army and we can fight to take it back. It would be wise to while Stannis is still wounded."

Rickon smiled some. "I didn't want to be the Lord of Winterfell and neither do I want to be King in the North. I just want to be Rickon, but I am who I am. Jon, Bran, and Robb were always so sure about what they were meant to do; Jon being the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Bran finding the Three-Eyed Raven, and Robb becoming King in the North. All of them did what they knew they had to and I have to do as well. I cannot run and hide forever…"

Such small shoulders with such a heavy burden resting upon them. Little did he know, Jon struggled for a long time of who he wanted to be and what he had to do. Aza was sure that Robb struggled as well and Bran was still finding himself. All of them were just boys when their world went wrong, but boys must grow into men sooner than they think.

"Let's not think too much when we're still out in the middle of this snowy mess, yeah? Get some sleep, King in the North." He wrinkled his nose at her teasing before nudging her, making her smile even wider. With a sweet exhale, she felt her eyes heavy enough to close, so she pulled both of them closer so that the warmth that rolled off her body would keep them cozy enough for a good night's rest.

 **RICKON**

 _Before him are the gates of Castle Black._

 _The wind whispers a sad song as intricate patterns of ice float weightlessly downward from the dark skies above. Each flake swirls and dances before the icy wind carries it away. He's alone, strange enough, and he doesn't really understand why but he goes forward. That's the only choice he has and he takes it without thinking too much about it. The dark gates open for him and all he can see is an empty or rather abandoned courtyard. It feels dead, eerily quiet, than it should as if there's nothing but ghosts that walk around this place. There should be men walking around doing their nightly rounds and once in awhile, the winch elevator can be heard and seen going up or down as men leave or take on their Wall shifts._

 _Dread begins to creep down his spine like a careful spider leaving a trail of silk. His stomach locks up tight, nothing getting in and out, and his face is set like rigor mortis; teeth locking tightly together. He wants to leave, he wants to run, but he can't. He knows something is wrong, but Rickon cannot understand why and it saddens him, frightens him, and confuses him._

 _He turns, spinning around, looking for someone. The first person he thinks to search for is Jon because this shrouding feeling of loneliness is driving him up the wall, but all he finds is a wolf…_

 _A white wolf lying in a pool of red-stained snow…_

 _"Ghost?" Rickon calls out him, his steps careful as the white fur shines under the pale moonlight. "Ghost… is that… Is that you?" The wolf won't move nor let out a sound and so Rickon decides to no longer walk. He runs. He runs and in the middle of his running, he slides and fall onto his knees. The impact hurts and so he crawls, crawls his way to the direwolf's side, but it's very obvious with open red eyes that the wolf is dead. "Ghost!" he shouts the direwolf's name again._

 _In the distance, wolves howl. They are filling the air with their singing that Rickon remembers them singing when Bran had fell and when they heard the news of Lady's death. Grey Wind, Ghost, Lady, Summer, Nymeria, and Shaggydog had sung this hymn; one song, no words, just pure sorrow in their howling symphony._

It's almost Winter, the cold air is unforgiving, but he wakes up sweating and his eyes are open to their fullest that each iris was a perfect orb of bright blue. His thoughts were in high definition, Ghost's open and dead eyes in the forefront of his memories before he snapped his eyes shut and opened them again, taking in the darkness of night. He must've not slept long for the morning was near but the grey overcast is making time muddy for a person to decipher how early it is in the morning or how late it is in the night.

With his heart pounding, he immediately got to his feet and searched for Shaggydog. In the midst of his crazed quest for his direwolf, he could hear howling nearby. It was the same howling that he heard in his dreams except it is not so full bodied. It's two or maybe three? He can't really tell, but it is the same song he heard in his dream and times before. Trying to sift through the howls to the one that sounds closest to him, he found Shaggydog whimpering with his tail tucked.

This was all too peculiar. He has had strange dreams before, but those dreams were much more different. He would see the world from Shaggydog's perspective, hunting and running wild with no real sense of direction; just utter freedom at his disposal and he was no longer a boy, just a wild wolf. But this? This was the first time he had a dream that he was still himself, very much in his own body; completely Rickon.

"Rickon!" Rickon jumped, utterly startled when he heard his name suddenly being called. He turned around to see Aza, squinty-eyed and drowsy, and Shireen looking very much alert. When he looked up to meet Aza's eyes despite how difficult it was in the dark, he found his lips wanting to seal themselves shut. Should he tell her about the dream? What if that's all it was? Just a terrible dream. She'll worry. She'll be scared. It would be wrong to put false fears in her, but what if this dream was some sort of message? Some sort of sign for the worst to come then how could he live by keeping it all to himself? "Why did you jump up and run out of here so suddenly?" inquired Aza.

He didn't know what to do and his gut feeling begged him to tell her. Sometimes going with his gut was wrong, he recently learned. Shaggydog's whimpering hadn't ceased and his canines bit into Rickon's sleeve, tugging him as if wanting him to go somewhere. "What's wrong with Shaggydog?" Shireen asked, observing the direwolf's strange behavior. "Did something happen?"

"No," Rickon mostly whispered, "at least, not really." He could tell by the look Aza was giving him that she was leaning towards the fact that he was hiding something. With a sigh, he shook his head in defeat. "I had a bad dream is all." He decided to be honest, even if it ended up being the wrong decision.

Aza bent her knees, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked him, showing genuine concern.

"I had a dream that…" Looking out into the distance, further north, where Castle Black was, he felt his heart feel as heavy as a ton. "I had a dream that Ghost was dead."

She visibly stiffened. "Are you sure that what you saw was a dead Ghost?" If there had been a sudden taste of wind breezing by, he would've never heard Aza's question. That's how softly she had asked him. That's how fearful she was after hearing about his dream.

"It was him!" he cemented his answer. It was too late to take it all back. It was too late to go back and say that his dream was just strange and there was nothing to get concerned about. "There was no one else there in Castle Black but Ghost. He was dead and in the middle of the courtyard."

"We have to leave." Aza had tried her best to cast a look on her face that spoke 'casual indifference' but her eyes, they were much too expressive. " _Now._ " He caused her to worry and what if she worried for no reason? It didn't matter. They would soon find out anyway. If what he dreamed was true then what did it mean? Nothing good.

Nothing that his heart was prepared to endure.

 **AZA**

Once they reached Mole's Town, she ran. The Winter-like breeze kept colliding into her as she tried to run her way to Castle Black. Her brown hair whipped back and forth behind her like a fiery tail as she jumped over sharp rocks and some heavy, fallen tree trunks as they had to get past these woods until they made it to the front gates. She had to keep running forward. Not stopping for anything. If Jon was harmed or in danger, if Ghost was really dead then… No, Jon couldn't die. He promised her that he wouldn't. She left with good conscious because he had promised her that. He survived worse things; Wildlings, Wights, and even White Walkers. Jon Snow wasn't allowed to die. Not ever. _He promised. He promised. He promised._

 _"Jon Snow does not see the danger around him,"_ Melisandre's voice came to mind, reminding her of the day before they sailed to Hardhome. Aza had believed that when they returned from there that the danger around him had been taken cared of. But what if was not about Hardhome or the White Walkers? What if it was something else? What was this danger around him that he could not see? Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes because she couldn't think of who or what it was and the lack of being able to come up with any answer made her feel stupid.

While her tears had blinded her, she wouldn't—or rather she couldn't because her body wouldn't allow itself to refill her lungs that felt just about ready to burst—quit running as quickly as her short legs could carry her. She kept bolting through the forest, Shaggydog running past her, nearly going as fast as the wind itself. When the gates of Castle Black were in clear view, she kept hearing the pounding noise of her boots meeting the snowy ground that seemed to echo and match the throbbing heart in her chest; the heart that was thick with grief and fear.

Rickon had reached the gates before she did, pounding his fist against the solid oak. He hadn't cared how painful it was due to how strong the wood was, he was all too determined to be let in. "Open the gates!" he shouted, tears bursting, spilling down his face as his chin trembled. Shaggydog scratched away at the gates, sharp teeth bared as if he wanting to bite away at the wood. Aza caught up, looking back to see Shireen trying her best to keep to speed with them, but ended up fumbling in the snow, tripping over her own little feet. Although Aza's nerves were all over the place, she could not abandon Shireen and so she returned to her side to help her back to her feet. When the gates had finally opened, Rickon ran into the courtyard without looking back.

As she waited to let Shireen gain some air back in her lungs. Aza and Shireen hadn't even stepped foot into Castle Black until a scream pierced the air. The Summer Islander tried to hurry them along, fearing the worst because Rickon's scream had put the sound of pain in the air through its sound alone. Aza had never once felt the pain of another, but Rickon's scream was agony seeping into her skin. As soon as Shireen and herself went through the gates, she saw Davos with his head low, and hands folded. He raised his head to look at Shireen first and then at her, looking utterly mournful.

She searched for Rickon, who sunk to his knees at the side of—

Aza slowly staggered forward, her mind swirling and breath shallow, until she fell in a heap to the ground at the other side of the lonely corpse.

Jon's eyes were always so dark, grey yet they seemed almost black. Despite the depth of their darkness, there was always a light in them. She knows because that very light twinkled for her and sometimes for Samwell, Grenn, Pypar and Rickon when they hadn't noticed. Now the light doesn't dance in them anymore, it has been snuffed out; his eyes are vacant. His skin was always pale, too. His cheeks would get so rosy when the Northern wind would caress his face and she liked to think of him as some pretty, blushing maid and tease him for it, but that rosy color is gone. His complexion now is a deathly waxy and pale.

The mouth that was so quick to smile in life whenever he finally found humor in something lied stiff and agape. His lips that kissed her in so many different ways and were blue and cold. The arms that held her every time when she was sad and lost, that wrapped her in warmth and security, laid stiffly at his sides. And if all of that wasn't enough, there is a dark red pool under his head, matting his curly, black hair and making him smell like an abattoir.

Even with all this, staring at Jon's lifeless form, she cannot believe he is gone. Something that powerfully alive cannot just disappear. Too twisted in her denial, Aza touched her hand to his chest and then pressed her ear against it too, listening for a pulse in vain. That noisy, stubborn heart of his wouldn't fill her ear and lull her with its sound like it had when he first embraced her North of the Wall. That very same heart she listened for when she rested her head against his chest when they slept because it's easy to fall asleep to. There's no sound, almost like it doesn't exist, his chest sounds hollow, and her ear is wet. It's wet with blood because someone had cruelly stabbed him there.

A sound left her lips, painting a canvas of what her heart was currently like; shattered with pieces so sharp and jagged that they could never be connected again. The ferocity of her scream was as if it had the power to bring life to the dead. The force of Aza's grief, as great as a tidal wave, was like it could wash away all that happened; like it could undo Jon's death. He was her friend, her lover, and everything more and in-between. The screaming sobs kept quaking through her, her tears falling in a rush like waterfalls in her hysteria. Her hands clawed her chest, wildly, trying to tear into her skin and let the sharp pieces inside her be set free.

Davos had grabbed her shoulders, trying to make her look at him in order to properly listen to what he had to say. "We must get him inside. We can't let his body stay out here in the cold and on display."

She wanted to speak but the words would not not come, only the tears did. She kept crying, like a child, noisily with running snot and choking sobs because she was not ashamed of her grief. Davos said nothing else, possibly at a loss for words, and it was Edd that sat on her other side, at least she thought it was Edd. She couldn't very much see since her tears kept her vision completely blurry. "Aza, we must get him inside and then we'll deal with who did this to him," he tried his best, Dolorous Edd, to be gentle with his words. "I'm not gonna tell you to stop your grievin', but grieve in safety and let's find out who did this to the Lord Commander."

Aza turned her head to face him, her jaw working to move but still the words had no power to leave. All she could do was nod, still trying to swallow sobs. He helped her to her feet, keeping her close to be her support because she surely felt like falling back to the snow to be at Jon's side again. The very place she should've never left.

Rickon stayed on the ground as brothers of the Watch began to lift Jon from the bloody snow on the ground. Shaggydog's sudden throaty growl had frightened them and made them too fearful to move. "Rickon," she called his name, her voice taut and strained. "You have to tell him to stand down." He said nothing as the men kept themselves still, much too afraid to move. Aza patted Edd's hand, signaling for him to release her and his arms came from around her shoulders and back at his sides. She moved to sit next to Rickon, her gloved hand reaching one of his to intertwine their fingers. He let her and he gripped tightly to her hold on his hand.

"We're going to kill them, right?" His grief had quickly manifested to vengeance. Her own anger and taste for blood had sat idly in the corners of her mind, still feeling strangled by her grief. "We're gonna kill the ones who did this to Jon, aren't we?" All he needed was an honest answer. Since speaking felt too difficult, she settled with a stern nod and her eyes looking directly into his own to show her conviction. It seemed to be enough since he looked over to Shaggydog and gave him a steely command to calm.

Shaggydog was obedient, for now. He remained at Rickon's side, his tail stiff and horizontal to convey his anger and annoyance. Rickon followed them as they headed to the Commander's Tower and because the men didn't have enough strength to take him downstairs and onto the bed, Edd cleared the desk and the men laid him on it. Aza stood where his head laid, her hand tracing the scar he received from fighting the White Walker at Hardhome. It hadn't healed completely yet and now it never would. With a shaky breath, she used her open hand to close both his eyes. She felt a lump rise in her throat and she tried to swallow it down in efforts to keep herself together.

"This was a mutiny," Aza said with a hoarse voice, watching as Edd's fingers brushed against Jon's wounds to see only a little blood stained his fingertips since most it all was dried and caked on the leather jerkin.

Edd nodded in agreement. "Thorne did this." There was certainty in Edd's voice and Aza felt it down to her bones, too, that Alliser was apart of this. But it wasn't just him. Every brother involved would die, she would have it no other way. She owed Jon that and she owed Rickon that as well.

"Why wasn't Satin with him? He's his steward, isn't he? And where's Sam?" Rickon had several questions, some that Aza shared as well.

"He is but Satin only leaves when the Lord Commander tells him to and Samwell was sent to the Citadel to become the Watch's new Maester," Edd answered all the questions presented, not hesitating at all.

"How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?" Seaworth's question made her curious. What did he hope to accomplish? Did he think they would just duke it out with Thorne and his lackeys?

"Trust?" spat Edd before looking at every brother that was with them. "The men in this room."

"We can trust Rowan," Aza interjected. Her trust just as thin as Edd's was now, but she would not let herself be so blinded. Now wasn't the time to be distrustful and reckless. "Rowan never liked Thorne and there are plenty others who don't as well. It's likely he got all the senior officers on his side."

Edd nodded slowly, considering her words. "I suppose you're right but it'll be difficult to get to them without alerting Alliser that we know what he did."

"And what if I want him to know that I know?" When Edd turn to face her after her reply, he saw no trace of tears, not in her eyes or in the tear stains on her face. Her eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold and hard. "I want him to know and I want him to come at me with everything he's got because I am going to kill him. I want him to see my face as he dies. I want his head and I _will_ see to it that I have it." Aza's glare was the only message he needed to know that she would never take those words back. She would never move on until the Jon was justly avenged.

For a moment, he said nothing. In fact, Aza doubted that Edd could think of nothing to say. "And you will get that chance. First, we need all the help we can get." Davos had quickly took to leading, making sure that nobody rushed head first into anything. Her eyes looked down at Shireen, who kept close to him and made sure her eyes looked and everyone and everything that wasn't Jon's corpse. It was unsettling, especially for a young girl to be in a room with a dead man squarely in the middle of it. "Does the wolf know you?" he asked Edd, who nodded in reply. "Then free him and bring him here."

That was the only way they could murder Jon in the first place. Alliser always scolded Jon to lock him up in the stables when they were commanderless, and it made her wonder just how long Alliser began meditating on this mutiny. Did they want to wait when he was alone at night or had they lured Ghost to the stables, locking him in, and all so they could stab Jon to death without thinking they'd suffer retribution?

In the midst of her thoughts, Aza looked down to see Longclaw wasn't strapped to Jon's waist. In fact, there was no sword belt. How did they even get him to leave the Commander's Tower in the middle of the night? Her fingertips swept over the many stab wounds, trying to count them so she could conjure up a number of the many men that killed him. It was hard to tell without peeling off his jerkin and even so, he could've been stabbed more than once in the same place.

Chewing at her lip, she curled her hands up into fists so tight that her nails made little moon dents in her palms. Aza blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears and stared desperately at the floor. As Edd made his way to the door, sudden knocks erupted and everyone had been put on the edge except for her. She knew better to think that Alliser would knock so lightly. That just wasn't his way of things. Rickon even had his swords drawn, standing beside her as a means to give her protection. She smiled some, grateful of the gesture.

"Ser Davos," Melisandre's voice had slithered through the door from the other side. She was one of the last people Aza wanted to see, and she knew for a fact that Shireen didn't want to be anywhere near her.

But more importantly, why was Melisandre here? Why was she not with Stannis or was Stannis already dead and she came here, tail between her legs, and seeking refuge in the Night's Watch? "Why is she here?" Aza had bluntly inquired, guessing that she had been here for a while since she didn't hear the gates open since nobody was there to do so yet.

"There isn't time to explain," Davos settled to say, offering her no explanation whatsoever. How could he not see or sense the way Shireen tensed up, clutching onto him out of fear for the woman she must've deemed a monster that stood on the other side of that door? Now wasn't the time to explain to him of what happened, though.

Edd turned to look at her, seeking for her approval on what he should do. The room was silent for a few long moment before she spoke; "Let her in, Edd."

"Why?" Rickon questioned her immediately. He didn't understand her actions, and she halfway didn't understand why she allowed Melisandre entrance either.

Her brown eyes watched the woman draped in velvet come walking in while Edd left. Melisandre's were steps slow and disbelief was evident in her blue eyes. She hadn't known, Aza discovered. It wasn't as if she suspected for Melisandre to be involved in his death, but she hadn't foresaw any of this either. All she had known was that he was in danger, she just didn't know the severity of it.

Melisandre came close to the table, far too close for Aza's liking. And before she could voice her distaste for Melisandre's nearness of Jon's corpse, one of Rickon's Falchion's sharp end kept her at bay. "You don't get to touch him," threatened Rickon, blue eyes burning as he made his dislike of presence here ultimately clear. "You'll do just fine here."

The Priestess didn't move, not even a single step. She kept herself where Rickon's sword kept her blocked and laced her long, slender fingers together. The woman's blue eyes looked away from the sword and up at Aza, almost portraying some sort of disappointment or sadness; Aza couldn't figure out what it exactly was. "I saw him in the flames, fighting at Winterfell." The woman's sudden premonition hadn't set all too well with her.

"You said the same thing about Stannis!" Rickon shouted. "You don't see anything! You're just a liar! All you do is burn people and lie!"

His words did some damage. It was quick yet Melisandre did flinch as if Rickon's assessment of her had a truthful bite to it. Her gaze fell from Aza and back down to Jon Snow, almost as if she wondered if what was said about her was true. What was Aza to make of all this anyway? She had no idea why Melisandre saw what she claimed to see. All of it wasn't lies and that was the bitter truth to swallow. The woman wasn't a fake, if that counts for anything.

"I can't speak for the flames," said Davos, "but he's gone."

And that was their reality. The painful reality that Aza wished wasn't true. She wanted to think of all this was some terrible nightmare and that she would wake up in the featherbed, next to a living and breathing Jon Snow. She would give anything just to have him again.

Rickon clenched his teeth, hand trembling with anger for each second the woman stood in this room. "You can't help us avenge him and nobody wants you here, you should go away." All of them watched for what she would say or do, and all she did was frown deeply and look at Jon Snow once more. She turned to leave in silence, closing the door quietly shut upon exiting the room.

It hadn't taken long until Edd returned with Ghost, who immediately began nudging on Jon's hand while whimpering. It made her wonder why Rickon dreamed of Ghost being dead and not his own brother. Jon always did say that he felt a connection to the wolf and he could never quite explain it. It might be a Stark thing that she couldn't figure out and it was useless for her to put too much thought to it. Just watching Ghost try to wake Jon up was painful enough and she didn't want to watch it anymore.

"He's probably already got them gathered in the common hall," Aza announced, knowing that Thorne would have to clean this up and explain himself. He committed mutiny and if he wants to be Lord Commander then he had to give good reason for what he had done. He had to fully convince them that he had done the right thing.

"And he'll have seen we didn't come. As you said, he will have it made it official by now. Castle Black is his." Davos knew the politics of the Watch much to her surprise or perhaps he just knew power hungry men like the back of his hand.

"I don't care who's sitting at the high table," Edd made clear, marching to the other side of the room in frustration. "Jon was my friend, and those fuckers butchered him. Now we return the favor."

"We don't have the numbers," Davos reminded him.

"We have a direwolf. _Two_ direwolves." Shaggydog and Ghost were like ten men on their own. Together, they were twenty, but even with all the throats they tore out, they were still susceptible to getting stabbed to death. They didn't have their own armor like the rest of them did.

"It's not enough." Seaworth wanted to work on strategics and because Rickon's life was on the line, Aza did not want to run into this too blindly as she normally would've. "I didn't know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn't have wanted his friends to die for nothing, especially his…" His eyes had cast a glance at her, not completing the sentence.

After all how she looked and all the crying she had done, she was sure Edd and the others knew good-and-well that she was a woman by now. It wasn't like she was trying to uphold this secret, she had no reason to care about it anymore. Besides, she wanted to see Thorne's face as he died by the blade of a woman who tricked him for years. She had wanted to kill him since the very month she met him and now it had taken years and Jon's death just give her the chance to finally do it.

"If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go." As thankful as she was for Edd deep love for his friendship with Jon, she had to think of Rickon first. He was the one she needed to make it out of this alive.

"This boy is important to me and as long as he still breathes, I will not die." Edd looked surprised, almost as if it was too unlike her to not hot-headedly rush off to fight Thorne. It _was_ unlike her. It was against her very being for she was an irascible girl, but she could not die while knowing she let Rickon die by Thorne's hands or orders. Jon would've never forgiven her had he known that. She would never forgive herself either. "But if something does happen to me, no matter how we go about this, if you live…" she looked to Seaworth. "Will you take care of him for me?"

"I will," he acquiesced in her decision, "but let's avoid that if we can."

All she could do was nod before placing her hand on Rickon's shoulder. "I'm going to change into some fresh clothes and change my bandages," she announced. "Knock the floor if you need me." She made her way to the spiraling clothes tucked in the corner of the room, feeling like when she reached the end of the stairs that she was going to fall apart again.

As soon as she looked around the room, eyeing the featherbed that was made and a fresh uniform that he was supposed to wear lying on the seat of a chair, she took slow strides towards the bed and laid in it, pressing her face to Jon's pillow. His scent was still there. It was everywhere. She couldn't carrying his tunic that she kept, she had to end up wearing it when she decided to disguise herself as Stannis' soldier. His smell on it was gone, it just smelled like her and was stained with her blood.

The sound of something padding on the floor startled her, making her immediately sit up to see Ghost at the end of the bed. She eyed him, watching as he made his way over the side of bed and climbed up. He sat opposite of her, his ears drooped low and soft whimper leaving him as he brought his face close to her.

Aza tried to hold it in as much as she could, but it all came out again like an uproar from her throat in the form a silent scream. Her arms wrapped themselves around the neck of the wolf, face burying in the soft and pristine white fur of Ghost as her sobs punched through so strongly that it felt like they were ripping through her muscles, bones, and guts.

All that was left of Jon Snow was Ghost and she had been desperate for any sort of connection to him. She was so desperate that she thought that somehow, Jon was still here within Ghost. That's why he nuzzled his head against her head, trying to comfort her in the way that a human would.

* * *

 **A/N** : The first chapter of 2017 and it's sad and short. Sorry about that, but I'm saving all the action for the next chapter.

I still can't reply to reviews because this wifi is so damn terrible. Like, please... _send help. I wanna go home._ Pray for me in every religion and even if you're an atheist, blow a kiss to the stars for me. To the old gods and the new, _c'mon_ with this crazy wifi.

But all I can say is that all your reviews made me so happy! Reviews honestly are so very nice for the soul and it helps me want to be better and give you everything that you want. I mean, I can't do that necessarily, but I can try.


	20. Chapter 19: The Pack Survives

**DAVOS**

He never met a woman from the Summer Isles, only the native men. The ones he met and befriended were either pirates or sellswords, sometimes even both. Salladhor Saan was one that was more fresh to memory for Davos, but perhaps because Salladhor spent most of his life in Lys, it was hard to draw a comparison. Either way, the ones he had came across were very hot-blooded while this girl, clearly not a man nor so claims to be one unless in disguise, definitely had the same heat about her. On this day, however, her temperament is entirely different. The hot-blooded girl who openly threatened to kill Stannis before him without so much as a stutter, the girl who had no problem putting him in what she deemed his place, was now somber. Like a star that has fallen to the earth.

The great loss she suffered was changing her. It was making her so unlike herself that she seemed more like a stranger in the skin of the girl he was slowly coming to know. People mourned differently, he realized that after losing his own sons. Most people dove themselves into a deep, churning sea of rage because anger is an easier feeling to deal with than sadness. All those that swam that sea could only ever see or feel was anger. They were either angry with the gods or unfairly angry with the entire world. Anger born from grief leads one by the heart and hand; a destructive union that was difficult to divorce from.

For others, like himself, grief felt like an emptiness in the heart; a shear of nothingness that somehow takes over and holds your spirit, threatening to kill you entirely. It gives you this heavy feeling that's like the weight of the whole world resting on your sore and fragile shoulders and there is nothing you can do to get out from under it. When he had lost Matthos, Allard, Dale, and Maric during the Battle of Blackwater, he felt that heavy kind of grief. It was why he was so devoted to his king, doing his all for Stannis because of the remainder of his sons and wife he had left. Davos owed them that much and more because he failed four out of his seven sons. That kind of loss drives a man mad but he could not choose madness, not even when it looked him in the eyes and opened its warm and inviting arms for him.

"Do you have many regrets, Ser Davos?"

Her voice was still hoarse but her Summer lilt made it still sound just as charming. The barest of sunlight spilled into the room, completely bathing her with all it could summon through grey clouds since she stood in front the square window. She was a vision, this young Summer girl, and Davos never recognized the femininity she harbored until now. She wore the Night's Watch attire, free of the bindings she forced herself to wear, and did not adorn herself with the heavy-feathered black cloak that would drown and shroud her figure every time he had seen her with it. The hair she always kept in a man's coiffure was now in the long style of a horse's tail. Near and far, head-to-toe, you could tell she was a young woman upon sight and she had purposely wanted this. This was her way of openly declaring herself a treasonous cause of the Order. A treasonous cause that will destroy it for vengeance.

"There's not one man or woman alive that does not have some regrets," he replied. Davos' eyes soon looked at the fireplace to watch the flames that reminded him of the times when his king used to stare into them for hours.

"What's the one thing you regret the most?" A personal question, one that would put most on the defense. Davos held no qualms with her prying, however. Sometimes a person needed to bond during tragedy or to hear something worse that another had done to make themselves feel better. To say, _"at least I'm not that horrible"_ because everyone wants to believe they're a little above most.

"Not being able to protect my four sons in the Battle of Blackwater." He took his eyes away from the fire to drink in her reaction. Aza eyes lowered sadly, the empathy clear across her face. "That is one thing I'll never forgive myself for. And what is yours? Do you blame yourself for not being here to save the Lord Commander?"

Her tone of voice suddenly became cold and rough. "I do blame myself for not being here but more than that, I hate myself for making him promise me not to die. How does someone stop themselves from dying? I asked, begged him, to live just for me. What kind of person asks that of someone?" He thought to tell her to blame it on her youth as a way to console her yet he could tell nothing that he said would work. "I keep thinking what if he remembered that stupid promise? Knowing him, he must've felt guilty. He must've blamed himself while dying because he couldn't keep that promise I should've never said."

Her chest heaved with a quiet sob, tears slipping down her face without resistance. She swallowed the wail that Davos was sure would come. He stood to his feet, precariously closing the distance between them in quiet strides to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The last thing Jon Snow would want is you loathing yourself. You said what you felt and what you felt only served to prove to him how much you loved him. We all hope someone could faithfully promise us to never die. You were just bolder than many to say it."

The back of her wrists wiped away at her eyes as she continuously sniffled. "That sounds like an excuse," she practically whispered. "A terrible and selfish excuse."

He would not argue about her own feelings. All Davos could do was quietly let the subject go, knowing that these were her own emotions and she would have to learn how to proceed with them. There was another matter at hand, though. One that he thought to be important. "Are you going to send Melisandre away?" After Rickon told her to leave, Davos was unsure if Aza shared the exact same feelings. If there was a way to convince her not to do it, he had hoped he could quickly think of the proper words of persuasion.

"I don't care what that woman does," she bluntly said. "She can go wherever she pleases and do whatever she likes. I don't care."

It was too early, much too early, to speak to Aza about the possibility that Melisandre may have some sort of power to revive Jon Snow. If he spoke of it now, he wasn't sure if Aza would think him mad or berate him for giving her false hope. He witnessed a great many things, things he never thought possible. He had saw that woman drink poison and live as well as birth a shadow. He was there when she cursed Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy, Renly and Joffrey Baratheon using leeches said to have king's blood from Robert's bastard son. Three out of that four died. Who could believe him unless they saw it for themselves?

"I think it may be wise not to," Davos settled to say, watching as Aza's jaw tightened to show her annoyance over the subject. "It is just that I hold some belief that she may be of some use to us. I hold no love for her myself but I think we best keep our options open in all accounts."

"I still don't care." Calm as she spoke, he had no doubt that she truly did not care about Melisandre or her presence here. "But know this, keeping her close does more harm than it does good. Do you know what she nearly did to—"

The sound of heavy knocks on the door upstairs was what interrupted her. Had it not been the situation at hand, he would've asked her to continue to what she had to say. All emotion left Aza's face except for her eyes. In her eyes was the reflection of fury and Davos knew right away that it must've been Alliser Thorne knocking on that door.

He thought to put a hand on her shoulder, to encourage her to calm, but he kept his limb at his side since she already made her way up the stairs. He followed closely behind, watched as she drew Longclaw from the sheath and began tightening her grip on its handle. It was his arm that he used to block her from opening that door. They did not know how many was on the other side. Thorne was no fool as to come to them alone.

"Ser Davos," Thorne called for him from through the door. Davos' eyes looked at Aza from the corners, watching as her jaw locked tight and her eyes so narrowed that they looked like they might slit in the familiar way a feline does. "We have no cause to fight. We are both anointed knights."

"Hear that, lads?" said Davos, trying to add some humor in this thick air full of tension. "Nothing to fear."

"I will grant amnesty to all brothers who throw down their arms before nightfall. And you, Ser Davos, I will allow you to travel south, a free man with a fresh horse." All of that sounded too good to be true. Davos would never believe it. Considering what they had done, they could not let any man leave alive after killing Jon Snow.

Before he could utter another word, Aza had stepped forward, gripping his arm to move it away. Her steps came close to the door, her eyes looking as if they could set the very thing on fire if she glared at it hard enough. "Will I also be granted amnesty, Ser Alliser?"

"Ah," Thorne had a taste of smugness in his voice. "I was wonderin' when you'd show yourself. Where have you been, Yearling? I had men look for you within the Wildling settlement but they said you could not be found."

"And why were you looking for me? Hoping to slit my throat while I slept before I've come to see what you have done to the Lord Commander?" Davos observed as her hand clenched the sword's handle so tight that it was trembling.

Rickon Stark had made his way to her side, eyes looking feral. He was wild as his wolf. The direwolves throaty growls was enough to make Davos own bones want to jump out of his skin and hide but he stood firm. He was on their side after all. The wolves had no reason to show their white sharp teeth or aggression at him. "It had to be done," was Thorne's sore reply.

"It had to be done?" she repeated incredulously, taking a staggering step back in her disbelief. "It had to be done, he says." Although there was sarcasm embedded in her voice, Davos knew better than to believe she found humor in anything right now, especially in Thorne's hollow explanation. "Did you hear that, Ser Davos?" She spun on her heels to face him, giving him a clear look of her face. Upon first glance, you would've thought her eyes held a blank expression but deep in them… there was a mounting darkness staring right back at him. "Brothers, did you hear what Thorne said? It had to be done is what he said." Her smile was cold as she turned back to look at the door. "Do you know what else has to be done, Ser Alliser?"

"And just what might that be, Yearling?" Davos had every reason to believe that Thorne knew the answer, he only wanted to hear her say it. He wanted further proof that he would have a justified reason to have her killed just as he found one to kill Jon Snow.

"You will see," was all Aza said, and Davos knew for sure that she had meant it.

Thorne said nothing for a moment. From this side of the door, you could hear some shifting where he stood. "I'm sure I will. At least I know where you stand in all this," he said, knowing very well that there will be a fight. "Ser Davos, as I said, you can leave. You can bring the Red Woman with you if you like or you can leave her here with us, whichever you choose. If the brothers choose to follow Aza, this ends with blood… but if you surrender then do so by nightfall."

Davos looked at the Summer girl for a moment, watching as she chose to walk her way towards to a seat by the table where Jon's body lied. She had nothing more to say, so it was up to him to end things. "Thank you, Ser Alliser. We'll discuss amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer."

Heavy footsteps trekked away, giving Davos a sign that Thorne and the men with him had taken their leave. Davos stayed where he stood, looking around at all the Night's Watchmen in the room. "Boys," said Davos until Aza squarely met his gaze, "and girls…" Clearing his throat, he felt somewhat embarrassed by the slight mistake. "I've been running from men like that all my life. In my learned opinion, we open that door—"

"And they'll slaughter us all," said one young man, understanding Thorne's intentions very clearly. Even if Aza did not provoke him, that man had every intention to kill all of them.

"They want to come in," the other young watchman spoke up, "they're gonna come in."

"Aye, but we don't need to make it easy for them." Davos looked back at Aza, wondering if she would speak up again. She chose to remain quiet. The back of her hand was all too busy with brushing gentle strokes against the pale and cold cheek of Jon Snow's face.

"Edd is our only chance." The young man didn't sound too confident about that, making Davos wonder just how unreliable this Edd might be. He seemed like a good lad and Davos hoped his judgement was not wrong to trust him.

"It's a sad fucking statement if Dolorous Edd is our only chance."

"Don't talk about Edd like that!" Rickon spoke up, sounding rather heated. "He helped us fight the White Walkers, didn't he?"

Both young men had lowered their heads, seemingly ashamed of their words upon that realization. Davos knew his words might be unwanted yet he spoke them anyway. "There's always the Red Woman," he uttered and Rickon looked furious while Shireen immediately tensed.

It only came to his attention now, how Shireen seemed so fearful whenever the Priestess was merely mentioned. The princess looked as if she was going to jump out her skin when Melisandre had entered the room earlier and he thought he heard her uttering some sort prayer under her breath. Davos had paid no real attention to it earlier, too focused on his thoughts and planning for the worst, but now? Now he can clearly come to question what made Shireen so fearful of Melisandre.

Something must've happened recently, which would make him understand why the princess went off with Aza and why Stannis had an archer attempt to kill the Islander. There was never no real love between Shireen and Melisandre, just a strained relationship that was neither good nor bad. Shireen did her best to keep most of her opinions of the woman to herself out of fear of her father finding out and what Shireen hated most was to disappoint her father.

"Why her?" asked Rickon. "She should stay away. All she does is burn people and lie, so why should we keep her around? Do you know what she tried to do to Shireen?!" Davos looked over to the Princess, who kept her head down for a moment and let out a defeated sigh. Whatever it was that happened, Shireen had wanted to avoid talking about it. Now that Rickon brought it up, Davos could see that Shireen had no intention of running away from the topic anymore.

"She was going to burn me." Powerless and sad did Shireen sound. Hearing her talk like that nearly broke Davos' heart. "She was going to sacrifice me to her Lord of Light for father's victory."

All Davos could do was stare at her, mouth agape. His brain formulated no thought whatsoever other than to register that he was shocked. He closed his mouth, then looked at his feet before glancing back up to catch her eyes. "I don't know what to say," he mumbled. "Surely Stannis would never have—" Yes, Stannis would. He thought to kill his own nephew for king's blood—King's blood. That was it. Melisandre thought to sacrifice her because Shireen carried Stannis' blood. And Stannis… Stannis was willing to give up his own daughter. His very own flesh and blood for Winterfell. "Why didn't you say anything?" he found himself asking.

"Because…" Shireen's voice lost its strength, somewhat diminishing to a quiet tone. "Because I know you think that maybe she can help and I don't want to stand in the way. If Melisandre can help Aza and Rickon then I thought I'd keep quiet."

Not once had Shireen thought of herself. She thought of him, of Aza, of Rickon. His eyes glossed with unshed tears before he swallowed the emotion and blinked them all away. "Princess," he managed to say, "if I had known I would've never allowed her to stay."

"I know," Shireen said while smiling, "but you're sure we need her, aren't you?" To think that this young girl, sweet and kind, could have been burned alive tied to a pyre makes his heart freshly rip apart. And for that to happen under her father's approval? The Stannis that he knew, the one he poured his heart and life too, had been long since gone. It cost Davos four of his sons, his estrangement with his wife and youngest boys, and almost the princess' life for him to finally see that, but Stannis was dead and yet his heart still grieved for his friend and king. The pressures of the crown became much too heavy on Stannis head and it ruined him.

 **AZA**

There's a consequence for falling in love with a wolf.

Heartache doesn't even like it should. It feels like a wolf is eating at her chest, tearing its sharp claws to her trembling heart. Underneath that tearing pain is a hollow feeling, but this imaginary wolf wants to devour her, eat her whole, and leave nothing but scraps behind. Her anger, the one that feels stuck to the web of her grief, is trying to feel and rebuild itself to fight off the wolf, but right now it doesn't know how. Aza tried to ignore it, tried to distract her thoughts with scenes in her mind's eye of how she would kill Alliser. It's all for naught since she found she had little appetite for it. The wolf still tore at her and its infliction only grows worse whenever she stares at the corpse that lays in front of her.

"Jon," she wasn't sure why she was speaking. From where he is, he cannot see her or answer her. It's really herself trying to seek comfort that makes her talk to him anyway. It brings her a sense of ease to think that maybe his shadow still lingers around and watches over her. The Stranger was kind to let some people have visions of loved ones gone. Would he be so kind to send her message or at least let her dream of him when she is finally able to sleep? "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," Aza murmured, stroking back his obsidian-colored hair that still smells and is matted with blood. Leaning forward, her lips met his for a light press, knowing that they would be cold and unmoving lips unlike the times they felt like they burned her skin whenever they kissed her.

It's the last kiss and it tasted of Winter; empty, cold, and lonely.

"It's time." Alliser came again as he promised he would. He sounded ten times more confident than he did before. "I hope you've reconsidered, Yearling. Let them open the door. Let the men inside rejoin their brothers in peace. I'll even set his wolf free North of the Wall where it belongs. Change your mind about fighting me and nobody needs to die tonight."

All who was within the room looked at her, wondering her reaction and what she would do. Her eyes hadn't strayed from Jon as she rested her arm against Longclaw's hilt as she had seen Jon do a thousand times. "I'm going out there and I want none of you to follow me," she announced.

"What?!" She didn't expect Rickon to accept her plan, but what were they to do? Edd had not returned with the Wildlings and she wanted Thorne's heart in her hand and his head rolling on the ground. "If you're going out there then so am I!" he demanded.

"Restrain him." The words left her swiftly and icily, despite how terrible it makes her feel. Rickon had to stay alive no matter the cost. She would make sure of that, even if it did make him resent her.

Aza's eyes lifted from Rickon to look up at Davos, who seemed just as unwilling to do as she wanted. It hadn't mattered, though. The two brothers that were with him listened to her and grabbed Rickon's arms, attempting to keep him from following her no matter how much he kept kicking and screaming. He was determined to fight his way out of their hold. "I'm going out there and if I can hold them off long enough then maybe Edd will have arrived with the Wildlings. As I said earlier, Ser Davos, if I die then you must take care of him."

"This is not—I cannot let you go out there on your own!" Davos' reaction was not surprising either, but she planned this even before Edd went to Tormund and the others. It was the only way she thought she could avenge Jon and have Rickon stay alive.

Rickon's screaming hadn't ceased and she felt guilty to see tears streaming down his hot and red, angry face. Her eyes had met Shireen's, who was silently pleading for her to reconsider but Aza gave a waning smile instead to let the princess know that her mind was already made up.

"I'm coming outside, Alliser." Aza did not take anything, not even a cloak. Davos tried to make his way in front of her, to stand in front of the door. He forced her hand, she mentally reasoned. She brandished Longclaw and raised the tip of it towards his neck within a spin. "This is my life, Ser Davos, and I'll end it as I see fit."

"With good conscious, I can't stand here and let yourself be slain!" Davos yelled while simultaneously not taking one step. He should know better, having a mind clear enough to know she would go through great lengths to do what she wanted.

"Keep your good conscious about Rickon and Shireen and not of me." Aza kept the sword facing him, slowly moving back until her back hit the door. She unlocked it and quickly slipped through when it was ajar enough and shut the door once outside. She quickly turned to see Thorne standing before her. There were many crossbows and arrows drawn, and steadily aiming directly at her.

Her eyes looked around, seeing that he obtained a fair amount of brothers loyal to him. Aza snorted indignantly, seeing nothing scary or worth praise about this lot of traitors at his heels. After feeling full of surveying every face here, she looked up to see Alliser Thorne staring at her. She could imagine how his head was trying to desperately connect the dots but instead just came across a large wall that he could not get over nor under. His eyes looked as if they would bulge out of their sockets as the words came spilling out. "You're a woman…"

"Aye," Her jaw curved to make her infamous smirk. The very same smirk that got under his skin so quick that steam looked as if it would come rising off his head. "I am."

"A woman in the Night's Watch…" He made light of it as if he truly could not believe it. Like his mind just could not fathom to have been tricked by a woman for these past few years. It was clear, that look on his face, that he was trying to pinpoint when he should've known. When he should've been wise to spot a woman in a order just and only for men. "I should've—"

Raising her chin defiantly, her eyes held unassailable confidence while she spoke; "Known?" she answered for him, knowing that was going to be his first response. Alliser liked to think himself so cunning and he couldn't stand the idea of not knowing anything until it was staring at him in the face. "Aye, you should've, but you and women don't get on well, yeah? You're just a bitter old man who can only get what he wants by schemes and by the hands of others. Never on your own. You couldn't even get elected on your fucking own."

Not having sheathed Longclaw after she threatened Davos with it, she raised the sword so that its sharp, pointy end was pointing directly at Thorne's face. Her whole stance was to challenge him, showing him that she had meant every word she said. "I want us to fight the old way, just you and me. You can do that, can't you? You couldn't fight Jon on your own because you knew you were weaker than him and so you stabbed him while he was defenseless, but me? Will you deny a fight with a woman who challenged you or will you have your men restrain me and have their way with me because that's what a whole lot of you are; rapers."

The string of a bow tightened upon her words and she nearly laughed at the sound. Did she grate one of their nerves? She had hoped so. The higher their incentive to kill her, the better it would feel to sink Longclaw in them. Not just that, angry men tended to make stupid mistakes. "None of you could kill me on your own. Couldn't even beat me in a spar no less."

Alliser's face was red with suppressed rage, teeth gritting. There was a large wave of heat was rolling off him as well, invading her very presence. Aza knew for sure that Thorne wanted to wrap his hand around her neck and choke the life out of her. But would he do it? She hoped he would try.

"Aza!" Her eyes looked from their corners to see Rowan, who had his hands tied behind his back and was forced to kneel down into the snow. She had set her jaw upon seeing his left eye was completely swollen, indicating he won't be seeing a thing out of it for a while yet. His face was covered with congealed blood and his uniform was an utter mess. Though his appearance angered her more than anything, it did bring her some relief that Rowan did not accept what they done without a fight. He loss that fight but he still stood his ground as best as he could. "Don't do it! There's archers everywhere! If you even so much as come down here, they'll kill you!"

"I know and it's because they're cowards," Aza replied, smiling as she did once she met Thorne dark eyes again. She would provoke Thorne every opportunity she saw to make him give in. To make him feel the need to fight her one-on-one. "I've been more of a man than every man that's standing here."

Every muscle in her body tensed up. One minute his sword was in its sheath and then the next it was gently against her throat. She hadn't saw it coming, a foolish mistake on her part for running her mouth and not watching him. Although, it certainly proved she was egging him to that state of mind she wanted him to be in. He was falling right into the palm of her hand. "If it is a fight that you want then it is what you'll get. You can follow Jon Snow in death as you desire."

Steeling herself, she sheathed Longclaw and stepped away, his sword's cold and flat side had brushed against her neck as she made her way from around him. Arrows were still pointed at her as she went down the stairs with some weight to her steps. When she finally arrived in the middle of the courtyard, she turned and waited for him to see he was taking his sweet time. "I know most of you are thinking, "why fight her"? What good is it that I fight this woman?" he said to the men, meeting some of their eyes as his strides led him a few good paces away from her. "This woman, who lied to us all and swore and oath not meant for her like, did fight on our side. She fought against a Wight, against Wildlings, and then again against the White Walkers. A liar she is, but she shed blood for us and because of that, I'll fight her honorably."

"And what do you know of honor, Ser Alliser?" she spat, thinking that honor was such a blasphemous word leaving his lips. "You murdered Jon Snow with several other men. Where was the honor in that? You're no better than Rast and Karl when they murdered Commander Mormont." Did he think she would gain respect for him after reminding them of the duties she had done? Did he think this would shed him in a better light in her eyes? It probably was not for her, but for the others. Alliser had to make himself look good while he's wrong in order for him to manipulate these feeble minds.

"He killed us all by bringing the Wildlings here!" Alliser shouted at her. "His kind heart would be the end of us."

"No." Her throat tightened, like a knot was forming right in the middle of it. She wouldn't cry. _She couldn't_. Crying was well worth nothing to her now. "His kind heart was the end of him." Aza's hand slipped around Longclaw's handle, drawing it out of its sheath heavily with purpose. This would be the last time she brandished it without feeding it the blood of the enemy. In a minute's time, she leapt towards him, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip. Alliser blocked the strike of the sword rather stiffly, feet kept firm on the ground even as their swords began to rattle against one another's.

It annoyed her to admit—or rather acknowledge—that Alliser had the upperhand since he was taller and stronger; his strength was just more than enough to push her back with enough force for her to be thrown back, body rolling across the snow-covered ground. He hadn't gave her time to even blink before he came at her, his sword moving in a quick slash.

Aza brought up Longclaw at the last moment, catching Alliser's strike before it could hit her. Due to her being unprepared, the weight of which had been thrown at her sent a sharp pain through her arms, and a burning one through her wounded shoulder. "You've gotten slower, Yearling." He was in the mood to taunt her, most likely to repay her back for all the taunting she had done minutes ago. "Is this the best you can do after killing a White Walker?"

She didn't know what gave him the idea that she killed one. She only killed Wights. It was Rickon that saved her life, killing that White Walker with a Dragonglass arrowhead. Maybe he just assumed she did since she survived Hardhome while some of the brothers didn't. But because her anger was boiling hot enough to make Longclaw tremble as his sword edged closer. She actually wasn't slow. She was stupidly less focused because her heart was so eager to kill him and her mind wasn't thinking clearly. Aza had wanted his anger to get the best of him except hers was unfortunately getting the best of her.

A cruel, arrogant grin had spread across Alliser's face. "Is it because you're thinking of Snow's face as I stabbed him? The way I punched the dagger in him?" Burning raged hissed throughout her body like Demon's Dance poison. It was screeching within her, demanding release in the form of violence.

"Fuck…you!" she practically roared. Once she was on her feet, Alliser took some steps backwards but Longclaw licked out.

The sword, reflecting the pale moonlight that hung over their heads, seemed like it was glowing. It glowed twice as bright as it cut brilliantly and seamlessly across Alliser's chest. Blood erupted and splattered onto the snow, coloring it red, as he dropped to his knees. A choking, pained sound along with pants spilled from his lips while his black, boiled leather looked wet from his blood that steadily fell in drops.

The sound that left her was shameless; a maniacal melody of laughter. The sweet satisfaction of watching him bleed coursed through her veins like milk of the poppy as it lulls one in a dream-like state; free of the sores and pains of your wounds. This was her milk of the poppy. This was her anesthetic so that she couldn't feel the wounds of the grief wolf that howls and claws in her chest. "Get up, Thorne! Get up! Get up! Get! Up!" Her grin had spread wider as she hefted the sword.

Alliser gave a taunting laugh, but her grin didn't even twitch. "Killing me won't bring Lord Snow back and it sure won't take back the pain he suffered."

"You're right," she replied, voice eerily calm and low. "It won't bring him back and it won't take back the pain you caused him. Giving you to the Stranger is fine enough, though."

The former First Ranger prodded experimentally at his wound before slowly climbing to his feet. "This won't be enough to kill me."

"Oh, I know." Longclaw flickered, shivering in concert with Aza's murderous intent. Alliser dodged the sword, just barely, and brought his own up to strike back. But when his sword tried to meet her, she dodged the attack with ease and her riposte slammed into Thorne's shoulder, tearing his jerkin and tunic away to display a fresh, ragged wound.

Blood continuously poured from his wounds, but Alliser brought his sword up in time to catch Longclaw. Unfortunately for him, he'd lost too much blood and his body was beginning to weaken. Just like he had done to her, Aza overpowered him through skill than sheer strength. This time, he was thrown back.

Had her fury not swept off her like ferocious waves, she would've been amazed that he was still conscious, let alone lucid. Because of the wound across his chest and the one on his shoulder, Alliser struggled to stand. If he didn't stop, he would die. He would die as he lived; stupid and stubborn. "I won't let you kill me here now. Not after all I've done to come this far. I won't let a woman and a dead bastard get the best of me."

Aza swung her sword, her wrath daring to consume her again. Alliser tried to lift up his sword in time to block, but his right hand refused to respond, and Longclaw slammed into his right shoulder. Thorne let out a strangled scream as his arm twitched in pain and the sword tumbled from his grasp. The man's uniform was soaked in blood, and his skin was almost the same white color as the snow itself. Only arrogance and pure willpower kept him upright and even they were beginning to waver.

Thorne's shoulders shuddered with each labored breath, but he still glared at Aza. He could barely even breathe yet his hand tried to grasp hold of his sword in a desperate attempt to keep up this losing fight. "Was this how Jon was? Kneeling, bleeding, and hoping he could still live?" asked Aza, knowing damn well she truly didn't want to know the answer. She did not want to imagine what the night was like for him. The images that kept popping in her head, Aza wished she could stop seeing them.

The tip of his sword dipped and waved, and blood just kept flooding yet he stood. Aza lifted Longclaw, slicked with Alliser's blood, and smiled. "You look ready to die, Ser Alliser."

With a poor attempt of a battle cry, Alliser launched himself forward and swung his sword in a wide arc. He was too slow and she was too fast due to all the life still left in her and the anger pumping fast like her heart was within her adrenaline filled veins. Once he was close, Longclaw's tip emerged from Alliser's back. Blood came thick and strong past his lips as he fell back down to his knees, sword falling from his hand and onto the snow already stained crimson.

Aza leaned down to whisper in his ear. "For the Watch," she said as she roughly pulled the sword from out of him. A fountain of blood came from the wound as she impaled Longclaw inside him again. "For the Watch." Alliser was grinding his teeth, trying desperately to overcome the pain, and kept his strained eyes on her. The sound of steel slicing through flesh met her ears again as she plunged Longclaw inside him anew for a third time. "For the Watch," she said again and Alliser fell, without a cry, to the ground.

His eyes no longer saw. His ears no longer heard. He was a corpse lying out in the courtyard of Castle Black, just like he left Jon.

Aza flicked Longclaw clean before placing the sword back in its sheath. Now was a good as time as any to cut Thorne's head clean off his shoulders. What would she do with it once she had it? It wouldn't be fair to torture the brothers she liked with his head on a pike for all to see. She could always throw it from off the Wall. The thought was amusing enough. She was far from finished, however. Her eyes looked all around to see brothers of the Watch with their weapons still brandished. "I'm not done." The hatred still burns. The vengeance still breathes. "I want every man who killed Jon Snow to step forward," announced the Summer Islander. "Every person that drove a dagger in him is mine for the taking and I won't have it any other way!"

Not one soul stepped forward to out themselves. No, they were much too smart for that. They were all afraid of her and their morale was all but grave deep with Thorne lying dead before them. Olly, Rickon's friend and the boy Jon took a liking to, had took step forward. His face was contorted in anger and all she saw in his eyes was spite. "What is it, Olly? Do you have something to say?"

He didn't have a chance to speak since there was a loud, crashing noise of the gates being battered. Aza squinted in confusion, eyes watching as the gates were forced open by Wun Wun. The giant let out a fierce yell as Wildlings came flooding into the courtyard. All the archers pointed their arrows and crossbows away from her and at them, but they hadn't fired. Instead, every Watchmen out here had took a step backwards except for her and Rowan.

Tormund's looked at the corpse that laid at her feet before meeting her eyes. She opened her mouth to suck in small breaths, her eyes nearly ready to well up with tears again. One fool had charged at him but effortlessly, Tormund had cut him down.

One archer shot at Wun Wun, hitting him the shoulder with a crossbow bolt that must've felt like a prick of a needle to the likes of him. Aza watched as Wun Wun turned to the Watchmen, grab him by the legs before ruthlessly slamming him against a wall and casually tossing his lifeless, broken body to the ground where Alliser laid. The sight of the man up close would make any stomach lurch but Aza was much to numb to feel sick off that.

Many of traitor Watchmen dropped their weapons, knowing that this clearly wasn't a fight they were going to win. Then Olly, screaming and charging at Tormund, kept his sword locked tight in his hand as if he could take one of them down just as foolishly as the archer. Swiftly, Tormund grabbed him and disarmed him, tossing him to some Watchmen that were stationed at the settlement, who restrained him.

It was then that Aza realized that Olly openly admitted to being apart of the mutiny. He stepped forward to clearly tell her that, but her naïve mind would've rather believed such a young boy—a boy that Jon cared about—wouldn't have done that. She should've sunk Longclaw in his heart, but she couldn't find it in her to do it. Did she really leave Stannis in efforts to save a child just to come back and kill one? And what about Rickon? Olly was his friend…

"Throw them into the cells where they belong," Edd ordered the Wildlings and the Watchmen, who quickly restrained each and every traitor brother.

Rowan, beaten and limping, struggled his way over to her and nearly fell into her when he tried to cease his steps. Aza held onto him, keeping him on his feet, but it was such a struggle due to his weight and his height. "Where is Satin?" she asked, frowning twice as deep upon closer inspection of her friend's face.

"In the cells where your taking those bastards," Rowan replied, turning his head to spit some of the blood that gathered in his mouth.

"I'll send someone down to get him out," Edd replied. "You need someone to take care of your face."

"I'll do it." The familiar voice quickly made Aza's head turned. Her eyes lit up as she watched G'Winveer, slinging her bow over her shoulder as she made her way. "I hear the Watch don't have a Maester anymore so I'll be making my business t' tend the wounded."

"It's been too long." Aza did her best to keep a straight face. "I missed you, you know."

"I bet ya did." G'winveer grinned before slinging Rowan's arm around her shoulders. "We should get caught up with one another after I'm done. There's something I need t' tell ya."

Aza nodded before watching Rowan be taken away to get the proper medical help he needed. Now it was just her, Edd, and Tormund in the middle of the courtyard with Davos and Rickon overseeing them from atop of the stairs. Tormund's unrelenting stare felt like they were going to burn holes in her face and she knew why. If she met his eyes, she was afraid she might start crying again. Aza wanted to remain angry, still underwhelmed that she had not killed all who were apart of Jon's murder just yet. The void in her wasn't full and it never would be until she exact her revenge completely.

"Little Crow," Aza still refused to meet his eyes and she halfway didn't want to respond to him. Aza kept her back turned, eyes doing their best not to gloss with tears.

"You should see him," was all she could manage to say before she walked ahead, going back to the Commander's Tower so Tormund can see for himself at what Thorne and the others had done to Jon.

Coming back to see Jon's corpse had felt no better and so she averted her eyes, seeing Rickon had gone back to sitting in the corner, looking every bit as pissed as she imagined he would be. Now wasn't the time to try to calm his ire against her, that is if she could ever do that. Tormund and Edd stepped close to the table, staring down at Jon with rather somber faces.

"Took a lot of knives," commented Tormund, a hint of pride in his voice. It was as if he knew that Jon could not be killed so easily and quickly. "I'll have my men get the wood for a fire. Bodies to burn."

Her nostrils flared and she swallowed a sob. It should be well-known that Jon's body had to be burnt or else he might rise again. Not truly alive but a unfeeling corpse whose only thought is to kill. She didn't want to see it, though. Aza couldn't bare the thought of watching Jon's body turn into ashes. Gritting her teeth, she blinked back her tears and shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts before following Tormund out of the room.

His large hand caught her by the shoulder, stopping her from running past him like she wanted. Her eyes were forced to look up at him and all she could see from his clear, blue eyes was pity. Was she that much of a mess? Such a mess that Tormund pitied her? Her pride did not flare with offense. It didn't feel like it was alive anyway after killing Thorne. Pride was all she ever had and now that felt taken from her, too.

"You did all you could." He was trying to comfort her. Keyword: trying. Tormund lost a wife; he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. It wasn't fair, on her part, for her to assume that he could not understand the depth of her hurt but she felt like no one could. She felt alone in this because although Rickon loved Jon as much and if not more than she did, his love for Jon was much too different than hers. He still had a family out there and Aza had every thought to believe he would reunite with them again, but her? Her mother was somewhere far and she accepted that, the Red Irons betrayed her and moved on without her and she had accepted that as well. Jon was essentially the only family she really had left and she lost him. It's like the world wanted her to be alone. It never wanted her to have anything.

Aza nodded silently, allowing him to pull her in for a much needed bear hug. Tormund's hugs were warm and comforting, and it wasn't just because of the furs. In that embrace, she felt all her unresolved anger loosen their keen sting and hope, somehow, raised its head from the dirt. It wouldn't bloom just yet, not for a long while, but just enough to let her know that it had still been there all along.

"Get some sleep," he advised her. She would not sleep in Jon's featherbed but she would go back to her old cell to find some traces of her old self to draw some strength.

"I'll try." Aza stuck to honesty and gave him a little curl of her lips to make him believe her. As her arms went to rest to her side, having removed herself from his comforting hug, Longclaw's wolf pommel had hit her elbow. "Oh," she uttered softly as she removed the sword from the belt, "could you lay this next to Jon for me?"

That was enough to tell him she didn't want to go back into the room. Tormund nodded and took the sword from out of her hands before inspecting it. "What's this ribbon for?" he asked, brows knitted in confusion.

"It was a token from me to him." And what good was it? Her favor, she called it, and yet it hadn't kept him alive. The back of her mind wanted to argue that if he had his sword with him then he would still be alive so it wasn't fair to say her ribbon wasn't worth anything. "I'm not going to watch you burn him. I'm going to stay with G'winveer at the settlement since she has something important to tell me."

"You should be there. Give him a proper farewell, not just for him but for yourself."

Aza shook her head adamantly. "You don't understand, Tormund. I can't do it and I won't." How could he understand? She never told him the panic that takes over her while watching people burn. Of course, Jon would be the first she hasn't seen alive while being scorched, but it was just as bad if not worse considering how much he meant to her.

"You'll regret it, Little Crow." Perhaps she would but that was her regret to carry. Aza had to think of her own state of mind and it just won't be right if she forced herself to endure something too horrifying.

"I don't mean to interrupt," Davos had stepped outside, looking first at Tormund and then at her. He looked like something was weighing on him, but if it had something to do with the Red Woman, she halfway didn't want to listen. "Could I speak to you alone, Aza?"

Her eyes looked up at Tormund, who gave her a rough pat on her shoulder before going to put the sword on the table next to Jon before taking his leave. It wasn't intentional, the roughness of his pat, he was just heavy-handed. With a sigh, Aza crossed her arms once they were alone because she had an inkling of what Seaworth came here to discuss about. "I told you I don't care about Melisandre, Ser Davos."

"I know that and I'm not expecting you to care for her, I certainly don't." Furrowing her brows, she decided to give him a chance. Just this once. "I think that she might know a way of bringing Jon Snow back."

"You think she can bring him back from the dead?" Aza's words trailed slowly, almost like they weren't quite ready to take flight. "How? W-Why would you even say that?!" Her shock slowly morphed into anger. Anger at the thought that Davos could insert this false hope in her. The dead just don't come back and if they do, they come back nothing like they were before. The only way Jon Snow could rise again was as a Wight, not the man she knows and loves.

Davos took some steps forward, eyes solely looking into her own to show her he was not playing any sort of mind games like she feared. His hands tightly gripped her arms, keeping her still. If he hadn't, she might've walked away and not listen to another word he said. "I've seen that woman do a great many things that I never thought possible. I watched her drink poison that killed a man, but she lived. I even watched her…" His eyes looked away, almost as if he was recalling the memory with shock still weighing on him. "…I watched her give birth to a demon made of shadows."

And who would believe him after he said that? Denial came first. It flooded her entire being to the point she wanted to push Davos far away from her and call him mad. Then came the soothing touch of hope… Hope that sprouted from Tormund's comforting hug persistently fought the denial back into a corner. That woman knew things, Aza was more than sure of that. Melisandre knew Jon Snow was in danger. She also spoke the same words as the woods witch from her dream about a Promised Prince. But what Davos told her of what he knew about the Red Woman? It was almost too impossible to believe. How could she dismiss it, though? Aza saw Wights and White Walkers with her own eyes and nobody believed they existed. The Night King was very much real and a storm happened from thin air in the sky like magic in tales.

Screwing her eyes shut, Aza wasn't sure what to believe, what to say or even what to do. All that she knew was Jon was dead and if she could, she'd sacrifice herself if it meant he would come back.

"She has until first light." Aza opened her eyes, giving Davos a stare that meant he would suffer if he was lying. Disappointment was simply a potion she wasn't willing to drink after all she suffered through the past day. "Bring her here and if she fails…" she said before swallowing any arising emotion that tried to climb up her throat, "then Tormund must burn his body and we be done with it."

Davos nodded hurriedly, voice embedded with certainty. "And if she fails, I'll kill her myself for Stannis and Shireen." It mattered not to her if Melisandre was dead or alive. She watched Davos leave, quickly making his way to the King's Tower that Melisandre occupied after Rickon's fierce declaration for her to leave.

It was up to her to explain this all to Rickon. He needed space, at least from her, just to sort out his feelings. He needed some time to decide whether or not remain angry with her. With Davos' plans and Aza wanting to know what G'Winveer wanted to inform her, she would just have to invade his brooding period and let the hurl of insults he must've had in that head of his take flight. Clearing her throat, Aza walked her way back into the Commander's Tower with her head down and her mind trying to formulate how she was going to explain all of this to him. When she raised her head to find him, she saw him standing by the window, looking out at the night sky with a very stony expression. Shaggydog was by his feet, lying down on his stomach with his eyes scouring the room.

Before she could pry her lips apart to speak, Rickon had beaten her to it. "You left me," he said, voice sharp like the edge of his Falchions. Nobody else was here except for the two of them along with the direwolves. Shireen took a much needed rest downstairs, Davos sought out Melisandre, and Edd wanted to make sure all the traitors were rooted out. "I thought we were going to kill them together but you left me." His voice raised just a bit, showing his anger had not died down by the slightest of margins.

Her eyes lowered to the floor. "You know why I couldn't bring you out there with me," Aza stated monotonously. Maybe Rickon didn't know the severity of the situation or perhaps he thought she was coddling him. Aza had believed in Rickon and thought his training had come very far, it just simply wasn't far enough to fight these men who were twice as skilled as he was at this point in time. He wouldn't have made it. "They would've used you against me or killed you, and I did not want them to ever have that chance. You are more than bait and Alliser would kill anyone who openly opposed him one way or another."

He had set his jaw, his eyes slewing to look elsewhere in the heat of the moment. Rickon looked ready to start a tantrum but it slowly melted away. "I could've lost you. What if Edd hadn't made it back in time? I would've been dead anyway." Her heart didn't know whether to dance or drop. To dance because he cared this much about her or drop because she hadn't considered any of that. That very large chance that Alliser could've killed her and then force his way in and kill him, Davos, and everyone else… She hadn't thought about that all and that's what he intended to do anyway, wasn't it? Alliser hadn't known he was Rickon Stark, he still assumed him to be a lowborn orphan by the name of Asher. "You're all I have left, Aza. That's why I wanted us to fight together." As if she couldn't feel any sadder, Rickon had went and said that. His words only made her feel twice as horrible.

"You're right…" Her voice took a much softer tone as she walked to the hearth, standing before the fire for some of its warmth. "You have full reign of your life now and you should be able to do as you want. Sometimes having that much freedom while young is a bad thing and I was only thinking how I wished I had someone when I was your age to look out for me like that." The hard look in his eyes dissipated. She outstretched her hand, holding it out to him. "So, do you forgive me?"

His blue eyes looked down at her hand and he shook his head. Aza flinched, his rejection stinging her, but it all ceased to be when she felt his arms around her. "Just don't do that again. Never leave me behind." His request sounded more like a demand and Aza felt inclined to give into it.

Her arms wounded themselves around him, pulling him in close and tight. "You know, I don't very much like that you're getting taller than me. Who told you to grow this much, yeah?" It was true. Rickon looked to be some inches taller than her now. How could that be when not too long ago, she had to kneel down to meet his height?

"Shut up," he laughed as he pulled away, looking quite smug that he had grown so much. His wild, curly hair was currently being mussed up by her hand while she playfully sneered. Although all the cheeriness of his forgiveness and her explanation for those actions had to come to an end.

"I need to tell you something." Rickon tilted his head, eyes meeting hers. She didn't know how to explain Davos' strange plan. _"The Red Woman might be able to bring Jon Snow back from the dead?"_ or _"There's a chance Jon can come back, but you just have to trust Melisandre"_

No matter which one she thought, they both sounded completely far-fetched and neither would either one stop Rickon from wanting to tear that woman into two. "Ser Davos…" she began, hesitating somewhat, "Ser Davos believes Melisandre might have some power to bring Jon back to life." She halfway didn't believe anything she just said out of her own mouth. She highly doubted Rickon believed any of that as well.

His brows furrowed and he looked ready to tear her head off about why Melisandre was still around. "I told her to go away," Rickon's voice was laced with venom as he spoke about the Priestess. "Why is she still here? And you don't believe that, do you? Everything she says is a lie."

Aza slowly tore her gaze away from Rickon and down at the floor. "I believe Melisandre has no real place to go, Rickon." The Red Woman was foreign, but Aza didn't know where she was from because she never bothered to ask. Something drew Melisandre to Stannis and made her stick with him, believing in him so fiercely. Was it because she was afraid to go back from which she came? "And Ser Davos claims to have seen her do impossible things. While I can't say I truly believe her… I believe him."

"Or maybe that's just you wanting to believe Jon can come back." Rickon's bluntness stung her but it was the truth. The idea that Jon could rise again and be himself sounded like a too good to be true wish most people would kill to come true if that were their loved one. "I kept praying that Robb would come back… He was stabbed in the heart, too. The gods didn't listen to me. I don't think they really listen to anyone."

Aza rested her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs rubbing comforting circles against them. "You might be right. There's a part of me that wants to believe Jon can come back, but what I've learned so far from your brother is that it never hurts to try."

The Young Stark contemplated her words, eyes absently looking at the fire and then back at his older, half-brother. It's such a shame when a child becomes jaded and has every reason to be. "And what happens if she can't do it?" he asked. "What do we do then?"

"Davos will want her head for Stannis and Shireen and Jon will be burned. After that, well, I suppose it's just you and me. We can go anywhere…"

Rickon kept his stare on his brother's corpse before looking up at Aza and giving her quiet, agreeing nod.

 **MELISANDRE**

Midnight was nigh and it was the hour that most of her power was heightened. The moon was bright and cold; a full wolf moon. The Lord of Light led her down a strange path, making her falsely believe that Stannis was Azor Ahai. It was so easy to believe it once she saw Dragonstone in the visions within the flames and it led her to Stannis, making the answer so clear to her then. Did she overestimate? Did she falsely claim him? Did the Lord of Light only mean to show her Dragonstone but not tell her that its lord was not Azor Ahai himself? Her head was full of questions, but her heart was weighing so heavily with doubt. She no longer believed in herself. No longer trusted her visions. _I prayed for a glimpse of Azor Ahai,_ she thought with melancholy, _and R'hllor only shows me Snow._

Davos had been against her ever since he met her and was informed of R'hllor. He never once believed her, never once condoned her for following the actions of the will of her god, but he believed in her now. He believed she could be the one to make Jon Snow rise again. A man already had this power, Beric Dondarrion, who was the leader of the Brotherhood without Banners. Melisandre gave herself faithfully to her Lord yet he had not given her a taste of that magic, not even once. She begged for him to do it now or else she feared she lived a meaningless life in his name.

As she entered the room, having all she needed for this ritual, she had saw the Summer child and the Wolf boy standing at the side of Davos Seaworth. Aza met her eyes, fleetingly, and within them she could see an intensity of ambivalence towards her. "Will you help me remove his clothes? He must be cleaned before I start," Melisandre asked in a quiet voice, finding all the confidence she normally felt at an unreachable place in her mind.

Aza looked at Jon Snow before back at her, giving a rather stiff nod. Steps, slow and hesitant, went towards the table where Jon's corpse lied. She stood before Jon's body and inhaled deeply just to let out soft and shaky exhale. Her fingers soon began to undo his jerkin, her hands looked ready to spasm whenever her skin came across the congealed, dark blood that stained his clothes. Melisandre watched as the girl forced herself to look unperturbed and strong.

It was easy for Melisandre to envision Melony of lot seven in the Summer child. Melony was once young as Aza was, once aching with grief, and was once in love and lost that love. Melony also used her sadness as strength and knew that in order to go forward, one must not look back.

"Zȳhys ōñoso jehikagon Āeksiot epi, se gīs hen sȳndrorro jemagon," she chanted, the Asshai lilt filling the room as the only sound to be heard was the crackling wood from the fire's assault in the fireplace. _"We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness."_

* * *

 **A/N** : Whoo! Writing Aza vs Alliser was fun~

xoxo: The night was still young. If she would leave, I doubt it would be at night for the "Night is dark and full of terrors." You know, she definitely would be inconsolable had it not been for Rickon and because she always sort of knew that Jon Snow would die/be in danger. It's not necessary shocking that he was killed but more so shocking that he's dead... if that makes any sense. It's like knowing someone doesn't have that much time but still not able to come to terms that they would die, especially in the matter that he did. But I hope all your other questions have been answered.

nerdylittlesecret: Please don't spontaneously combust. That sounds super painful!

Joy: Yay and nay because I don't want ya'll to cry but then I actually kind of do? Is that mean of me to say that? I wish we knew what Jon Snow thought before he died... Didn't even get that in the books, no less. Well, I suppose the The Winds of Winter book will probably go into detail, but I'll be dead before GRRM probably publishes that. Ommg... I try. That's all. I try to be the writer you guys deserve.

Natalie: I can't even begin to tell you the dramatic changes. You'll just have to see that for yourself in the next chapter.

Pikapyon: I can't believe I updated early too, and then I did it again. I'm like that with my favorite stories too, so I know your feelings exactly. lmao. And thank you! Happy New Year to you too! I hope it's going great so far. c:

Guest: I bet your like... "She ended the last chapter like that just to end this one like this?" I'm mean, aren't I?

G.O.T: Back at it again with an update.

Ghost: D: I'm sorry for making you cry.

xenocanaan: Ghost is my favorite as well! He really does and I would've loved to cuddle with him after watching that goddamn episode! Drogon is my second favorite. He's my broody teenage son dragon that doesn't burn his family unlike *coughcough*Stannis*cough**cough*. I hope S7 gives Rhaegal and Viserion some kind of personality. I totally agree, like I said, Drogon knows you don't kill your family and he's a dragon! :c

minstorai: i'm cackling because it's like #squadgoals. Lmao. Honestly, I'm kind of sad because I would've loved to write Ramsay vs Aza, but at the same time... even I'm scared of that. Sad that it takes Jon dying for her to actually show affection to Ghost because she was slowly coming around him before but just didn't have the time show it.

purpleXorchid: I'm sorry! Lmao. She has been good and she will be even good-er. I promise I'll repay her... soon.

kate langdon: I honestly don't like knowing I made you guys cry because it makes me feel good and bad at the same time. Thank you for praying for my wi-fi because now I'm back home and it is stronger than ever.

Guest#2: Thank you for blessing me. My wi-fi has listened.

Guest#3: It makes me think she'll literally cling onto him because she would never trust him being alone. And Jon's all deadpanned and like "? Can I take a piss without you watching me?"

rhyming with oranges: Thank you and I apologize to your emotions!

alice williams: She'll come through, she literally has no other choice but to. I love how much you know Aza! Lmao. I can't say anything for sure, but there will be a lot of trouble of ahead concerning all of that and for valid reasons. As much as I love Robb, he kinda... fucked things up for them and there's going to be a huge controversy stemming from him concerning Aza. I'll let you guys take a guess why. c:

Sing: Oops I did it again. I played with your heart. Added more suspense, oh baby, baby!

Game Fan: I UPDATED SO SOON! Well, it's soon for you since it's today. Lmao.


	21. Chapter 20: Still the World Pursues

**JON**

Most children feared monsters. Old Nan used to tell stories of countless monsters of which many seemed much too scary to be true. Some tales were how good men either become monsters or born as one while others took children in the night with a song. They were little boys, Jon and Robb, when she told these tales because they had the patience and imagination for them at such ages. And when she was done, the both of them would try to laugh away their fears and tease one another. _"You're scared, aren't you? It's just a story, Jon."_ Robb had taunted him once, hoping to see Jon jump so he could tease him. _"No, you're the one that's scared! That's why you keep looking around the room! Don't worry about me, Robb. How about I search the room to make sure the monsters won't come to steal you?"_ He had said back with a smile, utterly bold and unwavering. Completely fearless. But when they went back to their chambers for the night, Jon still did not fear the monsters as he lied in bed. It was emptiness he feared most of all.

Emptiness took root inside him for as long as he could remember. He can't remember when its seed was buried, when it was watered, and when it bloomed. He just knows that it lived in him for a very long time. Jon could always hide emptiness or mask it since it was only a feeling. Even when he smiles, nobody sees it there, lying in wait with its long roots ready to strangle him. But now? Now emptiness has finally won and it is more than just a feeling. It took him down in its earth and he's without sun and moon. It's just darkness, empty and cold. And the only way for emptiness to have the power to succeed in taking him was through death.

He died, he knows that. The memory of his death is still fresh in his head. It plays over and over in his head and each memory of the dagger meeting his flesh feels just as sharp and painful as it did the first time. Wasn't death supposed to be different? Wasn't he supposed to be carried off into this next plane of existence? It was all lies. There was no other world, no other place. Not even a paradise nor a hell. It was just empty darkness and he was meant to wander it forever.

There isn't any getting away from the emptiness either. Nothing fills it and there is no one, not even a single soul, to elaborate on why he's stuck with it. He's the only person here. There are no gods, no man, woman nor beasts. He's alone. Alone within the emptiness and it's the loneliest he ever felt. It's fucking scary and he must endure it because what other choice does he have? He has to keep wandering in the emptiness that always used to haunt him. He has to wander it for what should be all of eternity.

Despite all the terrors of this world, nothing pained him more than the fact that all his memories, other than his death, were fleeting. Good memories and even bad ones would come and go like a flash of lightning. He has to grasp onto them tightly because they did not want to linger enough to let him submerge himself into the moment. More than anything, he wanted to be flooded with images of her; her face that is just as pretty as the first day he saw her. She was dressed like a man back then and staring him down as if he were the only person in Castle's Black courtyard. That's a memory Jon doesn't want to forget.

He wanted to remember her eyes, brown as they are, yet they somehow have stars in them. She looks so starry eyed all the time; hopeful, confident, and eager. And for all the stars she could gather in them, she could ignite fire in them too. You had to keep your distance for her flames were mighty. By the grace of the gods you will get burned if you reach your hand in for a touch. She will burn you alive with her words, her stare, her swords and fists.

He even missed—no, no. He's losing it. Jon was losing the sound of her voice. His chest ached at the realization that he couldn't quickly remember the sound of her voice or her laughter. His memories come and go, he has to grasp them like straws, but it's too much if they begin to fade.

This place was starting to feel like hell to him now.

He doesn't mind the loneliness, the emptiness or seeing his death. What he cannot bear is the thought of forgetting Aza. In the past four years, she has been the only devoted, unwavering force in his life. She's his person; a person he could truly call his own. His own family could not claim him but Aza… Aza loved him regardless of baseborn, regardless of his boring life, regardless of his brooding, regardless of his dangerous decisions and his kind heart. Not once had she ever chosen another person over him. She only left him to protect him, to save him from having to end her life should Stannis had chosen to pursue outing her. She left for him. She stayed in the Watch for him. He was always her first choice, never the second or the last. Never a brief thought. Aza was his person, just as much as he was hers.

Jon felt a stinging in his nose and then his throat began to tighten. Jon opened his mouth to let in small breaths—breaths? He can breathe? For as long as he was here, he never needed to breathe. Dead people don't have hearts either, but he can feel it. The heart that had a blade put through it was throbbing and thriving in his chest. Jon hunched over, head feeling like it was being split open until he closed his eyes to another vision of darkness that surrounded him.

 **AZA**

"Get out!" All the pressure of the past couple of days that was building inside her, evoking a turbulent hurricane that demanded outlet, was starting to storm. It coiled like a knot in the pits of her stomach and now it exploded, bright and harsh as lightning. "Get! Out!" Her words were meant for everyone, save for Rickon.

Tormund left first, his expression hard as stone. The look he gave before he walked out of the room had incensed her but she did her best not to react. He wanted to repeat what he tried to explain to her earlier, the fact that she needed to start accepting Jon's death. But more than that, he wanted her to realize that she fooled herself with the notions that he could miraculously come back like some sort of madwoman too lost in her own grief. He knew better than to say it, he obliged her demand for him to leave, just not without giving her that look that meant to accept reality. Melisandre left a mere second or two after him, teary eyed and hopeless. The Priestess always exuded confidence about her Lord of Light and now it seems all the passion and devotion ignited in her for him is gone.

Edd attempted to comfort her, trying to place a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't counting on the fact that she would quickly lean away from his touch. She couldn't look him in the eye because she did not want to see his pity. He was already skeptical about this ritual in the first place, looking dolorous as ever while it was happening. Why would Aza want to acknowledge that he accepted all of this for her and possibly harbored the tiniest of belief that Jon could come back? She gave him false hope and that made her feel guilty just as much as she feels guilty about making Rickon endure this as well.

After Edd's leave, Rickon… Aza peered over at him to see his stoic face and while he had the strength to control his expression, tears sprung free from his eyes and down his face. She did not ask him to leave yet he sprinted out of the room, possibly to cry out his anguish all alone. Shaggydog followed him and she knew that the wolf would do a better job at comforting him than she ever could. How could she bring herself to do it anyway? Rickon was more than willing to grieve and let go until she accepted this nonsensical plan.

Last in the room with her and Ghost was Davos. He had stuck idly around with his eyes filled with regret. He couldn't fix his mouth to speak an apology and she did not doubt that he already knew that she would rip him apart if he so much as spoke one word. It was his fault after all. He tried to make her believe in this, in Melisandre, and for what? It was pointless. It only resulted in making her feel more pain and guilt than her body and mind could possibly handle.

Davos kept himself silent before lowering his head in what seemed like shame. He soon took his leave without a word and filling the room with the sounds of his boots meeting the floor until he was finally gone.

Because Aza needed it so much, she had let out a thunderous scream. She would've rather cried but her eyes felt empty of tears. All she felt was rage and grief, and she had to howl out all the emotions before they became permanent. Her fists were clenched so tight as she screamed that the nails dug deeply into the palms of her hands, ready to break flesh and make her bleed. She wanted to destroy, she wanted to ball up and cry, and she wanted to run away. There were so many things Aza was willing and wanting to do so that she could shake all of this pain off her. None of it would work, though. She knew it. In the end, it feels like this pain will never truly rest. Pain never really leaves her, it makes a residence and lives and colors the rest of her life. She can forget it once in awhile but it never truly leaves.

Unsure of how to cope and temper her restlessness, she grabbed the cloak off the back of a chair and began making her way towards the door. She needed to walk or do something. Staring at Jon's corpse wouldn't be of any help, especially now that she knows she's left with no choice but to burn his body and speak words of farewell when dusk arrives. The thought—that very strong dose of reality—was too much to bear right now.

Just as she touched the door's handle, she felt her breeches being tugged right around her calves. Biting and pulling the material was Ghost, signifying that he didn't wanted her to leave. "Please, Ghost… Leave me be." Her words fell on deaf ears. The direwolf only whined and kept pulling her breeches, completely adamant about making her stay. "I can't stay here, Ghost. I don't want to st—"

The sound of a sudden intake of breath had stolen her own. It even took the heat from her skin due to the cold surge of shock that coursed through her. Aza's defenses fell as she stood there, back turned. She could hear him, gasping for air since his body was starving for it. His lungs had been empty for hours, all their air stolen, and now they must refill them in a hurry. She glued herself to where she was standing, her whole body feeling paralyzed and her tongue frozen. If she turns… If she turns to meet eyes of crystal blue, Aza isn't sure if she could find it within her heart to so much as touch a sword.

She can't stand there forever, though. If he is a Wight, she has to know and if he's not then… Aza swallowed thickly, eyes straining to be kept from closing before slowly turning to face him. With eyes flown wide, she watched him, fully sitting up on the table, trembling and staring at her. His eyes are as big as he can possibly make them upon the realization that it was her that he was staring at.

Her body swayed back and forth due to how torn she was between running towards him and—and…

But Jon is the one who moves first. He's in such a hurry that he is going to fall if he gets himself on his feet, no matter how firmly planted he can make them on floor. The distance that settled between them dissolves like water puddles in the Summer sun as she nearly leaps, catching him before he crumbles to the floor. Her arms are holding him up, head tucked neatly under his chin. Her breasts compressing right below his chest. For the first time within these chaotic hours of his death, she felt like she could finally breathe again.

The acceptance that this was real had hit her like sunlight, spreading warmth throughout her body that her skin must feel searing. It took everything—every ounce of strength she could possibly harbor—to not transform into that crying mess of a girl again. Seven only knows how much she wants to cry and it feels strange since she thought herself to be all cried out. Somehow, someway, her eyes found new tears to pour. "They stabbed me, Aza." It ached to hear the devastation in his voice. Is it wrong to ache as well as swell with happiness that she can hear his voice again through her own ears and not by memory? "They stabbed me and Olly, he… he put a knife in my heart." All this time she had thought it was Alliser that committed that cruel, final kill but it was the boy. The boy that Jon had cared for like a little brother. That he admittedly tried to fill the hole in heart that Bran left. Aza slowly set her jaw as he reeled her in close.

One arm tightened around her waist, clutching the boiled leather she wore, while the other traveled upward. His fingers combed through the hair at the nape of Aza's neck, gently massaging the area. He begun burying his nose into the top of her head, almost as if he had do more than feel her to understand that all of this was real. _I should've killed him,_ she vehemently thought. She kept imaging when Olly stepped forward, practically screaming to her and the world that he took part of the mutiny. He dared to look her in the eyes and should've seen in them the declaration that he would do it again if given the chance.

"I killed him." He pulled his head back, eating her with his eyes as she told him of Alliser Thorne's death. "I killed Thorne. Stabbed him thrice." Jon brought a hand to cup the side of her face and she nearly shivered since his skin was still cold to the touch. "He couldn't last as long you did." His lips painted a small smile as Aza took only a step back to untie her cloak to wrap it around his shoulders.

"Aza, I'm sorry… I promised you that I wouldn't die and I—" She silenced him with a sharp thrust of her forehead meeting his. "Seven Hells!" Jon shouted, hand immediately coming to massage where she had headbutted him. "What was that for?!"

"For thinking about that stupid promise!" And again, she struck him square on the forehead with her own when he opted to move his hand away for that split second. It had hurt like hell for her too, but she ignored the pain. "And that's for taking so long to come back!" She couldn't hit him anywhere else. Punching him felt wrong and didn't want to ruin his pretty face. Not to mention, she wasn't sure if the stab wounds were hurting him now or he still felt numb to them. A headbutt was sufficient enough as well as effective. "You fuckin' bastard… leaving me like that… I was a mess, you know… A _mess_."

He wanted to be angry for being hit three times, but those eyes of his softened rather quickly. She hadn't known she was crying until his calloused thumbs began wiping away the corners of her eyes. Jon dipped his forehead to touch hers, not for a headbutt in retaliation. He had done it just to rest for a moment. "You know I shouldn't be here…"

Sometimes it was a curse how honest they were with each other. How free he felt to speak his mind, especially now about something like this. Hearing him say those words was painful and she didn't want to hear any of it. He _shouldn't_ be here. He was right about that. He really shouldn't be alive… He died and the dead were not suppose to come back. His resurrection was messing with the natural order of things for one should not be able to steal their life back from death. Aza didn't care. How could she? _Why_ should she? He was back. He was hers again. The whole world could go to all Seven Hells right now and she wouldn't damn well care because Jon Snow was alive again.

"But you are here, right now, with me and that's all that matters. To hell with what's right or wrong." Softly and quickly, he gifted her a kiss and it was sweet and gentle and tasted of tears. It felt like a ruse, all so she couldn't see the tears that washed a path down his chin. He was stupid if he thought she didn't see them and to prove she had, she broke the kiss to use the pad of her thumbs to wipe the tears away with a smile.

"I love you." His lips breezed against her mouth as he pulled her in for another tight embrace. "And I don't know what I've done to deserve you."

"I love you, too." She still feels flustered whenever those words are said. They say it to each other so rarely that whenever they were said, it means so much more. The depth of those three words had grown over time and hearing them now made her feel whole again; whole and full of love, if that makes any sense. "Deserve me?" She pulled away from him, arching a brow inquisitively. "You say that as if I'm some prize. I'm your woman but your woman is a murderer. You do know that, yeah?"

"Aye, I know." There was laughter sewn to his voice. "And I love you still." Nothing could possibly compare to seeing Jon's smile before her very own eyes again. The hazy happiness and peaceful affliction that filled the room had became tainted by the autumnal wind. As much as Aza could hope that the outside world could go away, she knew that was pure wishful thinking.

Maneuvering herself to stand at his side, she looked up to see Ser Davos, who stood at the open door. He was still, eyes glued to Jon as if he could not believe on whether or not he was real or a shadow here to haunt them. After a moment of trying to assess the situation, he flicked his eyes to meet hers, searching for some sort of clarification. Aza couldn't help but to assume that it was his quiet way of asking her if he was still the same. She wanted to say yes except… she felt unsure. Certainly death would change a man resurrected from it, wouldn't it? And how was she to know that right away? She never considered of the possible changes or the consequences that Jon might suffer or was currently suffering through because why should such a thought come to mind? Now that the thought settled in her mind, her heart felt quite heavy with worry.

"You remember everything?" questioned Davos, his shock hadn't fully wore itself off the crevices of his face. Jon nodded slowly in reply before fixing his gaze to Melisandre, who came quietly behind him. Her eyes were stretched open as far as they could, lips parted in disbelief. She paled unlike Davos, which seemed strange since Aza doubted many things should surprise Lady Melisandre. "The lady brought you back."

The Priestess' steps were slow as she came to stand before Aza and Jon, blue eyes looking for something in Jon's greys that made Aza feel uneasy. What was she trying to piece together? She looked as if she came across some sort of revelation; like a fresh look of destiny appeared before her very eyes. "Afterwards, after they stabbed you, after you died, where did you go? What did you see?"

Questions of that kind was something Aza's hadn't thought to ask and hearing them made her curious. She slightly tilted her head back to look up at Jon, whose face created a blank stare although terror was in full view in his eyes. "Nothing," he answered, afraid and confused despite how certain he sounded. "There was nothing at all."

At least there were no Seven Hells to punish him. But what was nothing? Aza wouldn't pry, at least not now, and she had hoped that Melisandre wouldn't either. When the woman's pale hands aimed to touch him, Aza jerked him close to keep him from her reach. Melisandre glanced at her and then looked to her own hands before receding them and lacing them together. "The Lord let you come back for a reason." The Summer Islander bowed her brows skeptically as the woman spoke; "Stannis was not the Prince Who Was Promised but someone has to be."

How could she so easily jump to that conclusion? After following Stannis for years, being so sure he was Azor Ahai and this Promised Prince, she now was going to claim it to be Jon? There were some factors to consider, very big ones now that Aza let the thought run its course in her head. Was Jon just some normal man that was gifted by chance to be revived or was he something more to the world? Could it be possible that he was the Promised Prince and she was supposed to be at his side all along as it was supposedly destined to be? A wave of questions were starting to jumble up and she could feel her grip on Jon arms tightened as she drowned herself in her head.

His cool and rough hand came to rest atop one of hers, kindly saving her from flooding herself with a sea of confusing thoughts. Her thoughts, however, were no longer a true concern of hers anymore. Beneath her feet, the wooden floor was starting to feel soft. It was as if any minute, she would somehow sink herself through. With one violent contraction, the congealed contents of her stomach emerged from her mouth and onto the floor. Everything had went dark as she nearly fell in a heap to the floor. As the encroaching darkness took over her vision as she slipped into unconsciousness, she kept hearing Jon calling her name.

 **JON**

How could he have not noticed? How devastatingly exhausted she was. Why did it have to take her passing out for him to see it? His heart all but broke as he gazed at her puffy eyes, the worry lines that seemed to etch themselves into her brow, and how there was a hint of red that colored the tip of her nose and around eyelids. "She hasn't slept nor ate since she arrived in Castle Black," Melisandre informed him as she kept her slender fingers pressed against Aza's wrist to check her pulse. "Her heart steadies but she needs rest and a light meal when she wakes. She will be fine."

"You hear that, Snow? She'll be fine." Tormund stressed to him, trying to make Jon understand and believe what Melisandre had said. It wasn't that Jon couldn't believe what the Priestess told them, he was too occupied in blaming himself for all of this. It was his fault that she was sleep and food deprived. It was his fault that he died and she was left to grieve. His death made her forget herself and she had pushed her body to extreme limits all because he had fell for an obvious trap.

"She's like this because of me." Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he stroked back some of the loose strands that broke free from her horsetail. She had not moved an inch under his touch for she was too lost in a deep sleep to not be aware of what was happening around her. It reminded him back when she laid sleeping in the infirmary after the Battle of Castle Black. The fear that she might never wake up started to crawl into the back of his head, desperate to reach to the forefront of his mind despite Melisandre's explanation.

"This young woman is made of sterner things, Jon Snow." Davos had took a few steps forward, his eyes inspecting Aza's resting form with warm regard. "Sterner things than I, if you don't mind me saying. None of the Wildlings, King Stannis, and Ser Alliser Thorne could not stop her, what makes you think a little illness will?"

Jon felt comforted by Davos' words as well as a little foolish. All he could muster to do was nod, letting them know he believed she would wake soon. "Where is Rickon?" inquired Jon, noticing that his baby brother seemed to have left the room without him noticing. After getting an earful about dying, a tight hug and a few tears, Rickon soon poured all his worry into Aza's condition. He even went as far as to threaten Jon to not hurt Aza to this point again. His baby brother was starting not to act so much like a baby anymore and the fierceness in him that he displayed minutes ago certainly proved it.

"He's helping Edd get things ready," Davos answered, leaving Jon to feel a little worried. When Rickon found out that Olly put a knife in his heart, he didn't really react. Rickon's expression went cold and all the anger traveled to his eyes. He said not a word and stood, almost as if he had to let the words soak in. There was turmoil there and Jon suspected there would be. Olly was once Rickon's friend, almost like a brother to him. He didn't want to tell Rickon that Olly was apart of the mutiny in the first place, but that would mean letting Olly go unpunished and that was something Jon could not find within himself to do. Olly deserved punishment for what he had done just as Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwick did for being the ringleaders.

"You can all go." It was more of a demand than it was a request. Melisandre had rose from the edge of the bed and onto her feet, leaving with Tormund and Davos following behind her. Ghost meandered his way towards the bed, hopping up to rest himself at Aza's feet. "Will you watch over her for me, boy?" he asked the white wolf, who only tilted his head. Jon couldn't help but smile at the vague gesture.

His fingers began to run over the back of her hand idly as he kept his eyes fixed on her sleeping form. There were a lot of things to consider, mainly about the Night's Watch and where he stood. The Watch had brought them nothing but misery and little joy; sacrifice after sacrifice that would all amount to nothing. If they stayed, if they fought this losing battle, Aza might end up losing her life. There was no reason for them to stay and quite frankly, Jon didn't want to be here for a second longer. He gave his blood, sweat, and tears as well as his life for the Watch and what did he get in return? A knife in his heart.

Light footsteps had tread down the spiraling stairs and as soon as he turned, he saw Princess Shireen making her way towards them. "Princess," Jon bowed his head respectfully.

The Baratheon girl merely shook her head, dismissing all sorts of formalities. "My father is dead, Lord Commander," she told him quietly and calmly. To be honest, she sounded more of a young noble lady than a girl her age. She had to be the same age as Arya and Arya… would she sound so dignified like that now? How has she grown and change? It seems unbelievable that Arya has grown and changed from that skinny, little wolfish girl he loved and knew. "And so that means I am no longer a princess." Jon found himself not knowing what to say and resolved only to nod, indicating he understood her reasons and would no longer call her by such a title. "What will you do once you have hung the traitors?"

"There's nothing else for me here," he answered. "Aza, Rickon, and I have no reason to stay."

"But where will you go?" Jon had no idea where they would go. The first thought he had was some place warm and so that meant South. The Reach, King's Landing or maybe Dorne. Perhaps going to the Isles or even some place Essos would be good enough. Some place far and warm without the worries of politics or the world. If the world ends… it ends. He's done fighting.

Jon's smile was faint. "I don't know. Just some place far and warm."

"Aza would like that, wouldn't she?" Shireen smiled at him as she spoke; "She's from a warmer place and I think that's where she belongs." Her feet led her towards a chair where she took a seat, indicating she meant to stay for a while. "Aza told me that I should plead forgiveness for my father's actions to King Tommen. I don't know much about him but what I hear are good things."

"If you want Dragonstone to belong to you again then that would be wise, My Lady." She seemed content with that. She found that to be more appropriate than princess. Shireen looked down at her hands in thought. "Dragonstone belongs to the Baratheons as well as Storm's End. If you don't take ownership of either one, Cersei will place someone of her liking in your own home."

"Just as the Boltons have done to your home." Her words were sharp whether she knew that or not. Jon set his jaw, eyes slewing to stare at the floor. "Will you let the Boltons keep Winterfell? Lord Bolton is a man of Lannisters choosing in your home as well."

"Winterfell is not mine as Dragonstone is yours." Jon wondered if she would understand what he meant. Dragonstone was her birthright but Winterfell…

"I wasn't trying to offend you, Lord Commander, I'm just simply saying that I know how difficult it is to choose to either take back what inherently belongs to you or to consider to abandon it. Dragonstone is my home… Sometimes it certainly didn't feel like it."

Even she felt like an outsider in the place she was born and raised. Shireen wasn't too much different than him, he realized. Jon couldn't think of the proper advice to give her and so he settled with some rather measly words. "In the end, we have to do what we think is right. If you want Storm's End or Dragonstone, you should fight for it." He doubted his words invoked much of a difference in her plans, but he at least tried. Shireen was only five-and-ten and to run a castle at such an age seemed overwhelming. However, Jon had faith that she could be the Lady of Dragonstone or Storm's End without too much difficulty; she was, after all, bright for her age and had an air of a noble lady about her.

After a few knocks, Edd had walked himself in and stood by the door. "It's time," he announced.

Jon glanced at Aza, slowly raising his hand from atop of hers to gather himself on his feet. The jerkin he wore, full of holes from the stabbings, had laid on the table with Longclaw next to it. "Will you be staying here, Lady Shireen?" Jon asked as he picked up the Valyrian steel sword.

"Someone has to," Shireen said before looking at the fireplace. Grateful as he was, he kept quiet on his thanks as he made his way outside. Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwick were waiting for him on the gallows. Only two? Where was Olly? Thorne was not there for obvious reasons, but Olly should be with them. Before he could turn to ask Edd where the boy was, Edd seemed answer exactly what he was going to ask.

"Olly was dead when I went to retrieve them," said Edd. Jon's eyes then peered towards the crowd where Rickon stood next to Tormund, looking almost unfazed by it all. "Rickon put a sword through his heart." Jon had set his jaw, forcing himself to look down at the wooden platform beneath his feet. Rickon was only ten and he had killed a boy near his age? A boy he considered a friend and brother? "He said it was his right to seek vengeance and Olly deserved to die by his hand. This was before we knew you were alive again."

There was no time to fault himself or ponder where things went wrong and why everything ended up like this. Eventually, he would have to talk to Rickon about what he done and make sure his brother wasn't following a dark path. He was too young to be taking lives, but this world… This world they lived in now did not protect the young anymore. Not only that, it would seem hypocritical of him to give such a talk. Jon, himself, had vengeance beating like a drum in his blood. The desire to watch all those who betrayed him, who stabbed him, had quaked with delight at the thought of watching them turn blue and swollen as the air escaped their lungs as they struggled for air. He wanted to be the very face they saw before death.

Death has done something to him, changed a part of him in the oddest and nearly darkest of ways. He had yet to understand what to make of it.

 **AZA**

The moon had caught her in its glare and awashed the room, surrounding her in its soft glow. Aza wanted to stay cocooned in the contentment it gave her, not wanting to wake up and surrender this one moment of peace. She was sure the world was nowhere near finished with throwing its chaos at her. This world has torn her apart from people she loved, stripped her from both lives she had made for herself, and constantly tested her against her own peers and then some. So why does one moment of tranquility sound like a strange concept? Why did it feel so unobtainable when it was within her grasp? Why could she not find herself wanting to stay in this peace without feeling an ounce of guilt? Because she was not meant for a peaceful life. She was never meant to know peace when her mother could not utter her father's name.

Her body ached as she sat herself up, back against the headboard since that was the luxuries of a Lord Commander's featherbed. Pushing through the aches in her joints, she pulled her knees close to her chest and stared absently at the end of the bed. "You're awake," Melisandre spoke first. Aza didn't even have to look at her to know she was there. The Priestess had a certain presence about her that made the Islander instantly aware when she was close.

"I didn't expect for you to awake so soon." She had sound genuinely surprised and for that, Aza was curious. How long was she expected to sleep? Two days or more? She slept the whole day just about. It was almost dusk when she fainted, at least that's what she assumed. Now the moon is high, and so that meant she slept from dusk to late evening. That surely sounded like a lot of sleep, just not enough for the likes of her.

"Where is he?" Aza softly asked, more concerned about where Jon was than anything else. She hated the thought of being separated from him but he must've had his reasons for not being here. Whatever reasons they could be somewhat earned her frustration.

Melisandre took her time to answer, garnering a slight glower from Aza. "His sister has arrived to Castle Black."

"His sister?" she repeated incredulously. "Which sister?" Was it Arya? If so, Jon would surely be over the moon to be reunited with her again.

"Sansa Stark." When she clarified who it was, Aza wasn't sure what to make of it. Jon and Sansa were not close, not at all. Jon only mentioned her rarely, not as much as he mentioned the other siblings. Still, she felt happy for him. To be reunited with family after so many years apart? Despite all her happiness for him, she felt irrevocably jealous. He got his brother and now his sister. If Bran and Arya could be found then he'd have almost his entire family.

"I should report to him that you're awake, he'll want to know at once." But before the woman could lift herself from her seat, Aza hurriedly spoke.

"No!" she slightly shouted. "Let him spend time with her alone. I'm sure they have some catching up to do, yeah? He'll see me when he's able." It was hesitant but Melisandre nodded and sat herself back in the chair.

In this sudden silence, Aza peered over at the Red Woman who decided to transfix her gaze back to the flames. Melisandre was many things and Aza had many reasons for all the hostility, her anger, and confusion she harbored towards her. Since this morning, however, Aza also felt insurmountable gratefulness towards her and that made Aza feel strange considering she doubted she could ever forgive the woman for what she almost did to Shireen. Although, if not for her, Jon wouldn't be alive and plenty of times in the past, she had warned Aza of the danger Jon was unknowingly around.

If not for Melisandre, Aza might've lost Jon forever. "I didn't get the chance to thank you for bringing Jon back."

"It was not I that brought him back," the woman stated calmly, "it was the Lord of Light. I was his vessel, only here to uphold his will. If there is anyone you should thank, it is him."

"That wasn't R'hllor desperately pleading for him to come back, that was you, Melisandre. You had every reason to give up, to say it didn't work and be done with it and go on with your life, but you kept trying. For that, I am grateful." Aza doubted that she and Melisandre would ever be friends but hopefully things could be less antagonistic.

There was a faint curve to the woman's red lips to suggest she was smiling. Not mischievously either; it seemed like a true, genuine smile. There was something more the woman wanted to say, Aza could tell by the way her smile faded and her eyes held this strange gleam in them. She became distracted when Ghost turned his head towards the stairs, ears twitching as Jon finally reached the end of the steps. The direwolf left her, jumping off the bed to greet him and be given a scratch between the ears. Aza could huff at being abandoned so quickly and only on a whim decided not to.

"Is she well, Melisandre?" he asked before the woman rose to her feet to take her leave. Jon's grey eyes had glanced at Aza, almost playfully. It was as if he knew that she was annoyed that he hadn't asked her directly. Did he think she was going to lie? Truthfully, she was because she didn't want him to worry and possibly nag her back to sleep.

"She needs more rest. Other than that, she'll be fine." Melisandre quickly bowed her head before heading up the stairs and out of the tower.

Jon soon sat at the edge of the bed, looking somewhat troubled now that it was just the two of them and Ghost, who laid by the hearth. There was something off… Shouldn't he be happy? He was reunited with more of his family and she had hoped to see him gleeful. Gleeful might've been somewhat of stretch now that she thought about it. This was Jon Snow they were speaking about and glee doesn't suit him at all. "Melisandre told me that Sansa has come to Castle Black," Aza began the conversation.

"I haven't seen her in four years and she's grown so much," Jon replied, eyes crinkling and creating the smile his lips wouldn't make. "She's beautiful and tall, and she…" He stopped himself for a moment, having some difficulty to continue what he had to say. "She looks so much like Lady Stark." Having known the strained relationship between Jon and the former Lady of Winterfell, she could understand why that could've been unnerving. Still, his personal feelings towards his sister's mother hadn't overshadowed much of his joy since he still spoke highly of Sansa.

"Did Rickon see her?" she questioned, curious as to how Rickon must've felt seeing his eldest sister again. He was six going on seven when she left Winterfell. And whenever he spoke about her, as briefly as he did, Rickon seemed to remember only little about her.

"He thought she was their mother when he first saw her." Aza immediately frowned, feeling sad for him. Out of everyone, Rickon was most attached to his mother and to think he thought to have seen her again…? Aza found herself feeling closer to Rickon more than before upon hearing that. They both felt a longing, a desire to see a woman they hadn't seen in years. The difference between them was that years and death separated Rickon and his mother while years and seas separated Aza from hers.

The sorrow had not left Jon's face, making her anxious. "There's something bothering you."

His smile was tight, further proving that she was right to assume something was wrong. "When you fainted earlier…" Jon trailed before heaving a sigh and grabbing one of her hands. "Part of me hoped that you were with child."

Within an instant, Aza's eyes had gone wide and her mouth slightly fell open. "With child?" she echoed, voice conveying her complete and utter shock. "How could you think—"

"I know you aren't, Melisandre would've said so." That was a relief. She almost thought she was considering she never put any of that into perspective. "It's a silly thought considering everything that's going on…" Regret poured over his face, ebbing away her surprise as she knew there was a lot going on in his head than she could imagine. "But I'm done with the Watch, I gave my title and cloak to Edd. I've pledged my life, loss my life, and now that I have it again I'm not going to waste it here. I want us to leave and go South or the Isles, wherever we can and want to go. I want us to find a little home, marry, and have children. I'm tired of fighting and I've done everything that I could. What more can I do? Why should I give so much more of myself after this?"

This was the most selfish Jon had ever sounded in his entire life. She always wanted him to be more selfish, to think about what he wants and to go for them, but this? Marriage? Children? A little home in the South or the Isles? It seemed strange, almost like some unreal dream. "You want to marry me?" Is the only thing she could think of to say.

"Of course I want to marry you." He's serious. Completely certain. His eyes wouldn't for a second look away from hers, looking straight into her own to mean that he meant exactly what he said. Her face felt toasty and she had done her first instinct, which was to snake her hand out of his to cover her face with both hands because of how flustered she felt. Aza never thought of being a wife or ever thought someone would want to marry her. She had always been sure that she was going to spend her life alone as a sellsword. Now here comes Jon Snow, making her consider things she never would have all these years until now.

Jon peeled her hands from her face, seeking to soothe her as he belted out a halfhearted laugh. "You're bashful over marriage?" he questioned, sounding amused by her reaction.

"Not only marriage but you want a baby? Those little things that cry and shit themselves and suck on teats? You want one of those?" He tried to fight it, she could tell by the way his mouth quivered that he desperately wanted to laugh. Self control seemed to have won in the end.

"You make them sound like they're some sort of wild animals." Weren't they? Dalla's baby isn't so bad. He doesn't cry much and smiles plenty when Val tickles his chin and speaks gibberish. He's a good little thing despite how fragile he is and that tended to frighten her. How could she be a mother anyway? She's not soft and sweet or knows how to care for things that must easily break. She can't sing them songs because she can't sing and mothers are supposed to be virtuous and beautiful. Her mother was all those things and yet she inherited none of that. Aza absolutely couldn't see herself being a good mother. She wasn't equipped to be.

"What about Rickon and Sansa?" Too frightened to tell him the insecurity she felt about motherhood, she focused on two people who were missing from this scenario.

His smile slowly faded and his eyes ventured to look at the floor. "Sansa wants to take back Winterfell and she wants me to help her. If I say no, she says she'll do it herself if she has to." Jon seemed conflicted as well as inclined to run away from fighting, from Winterfell, and the responsibility that put lives on his shoulders again. He may have wanted all those things, marriage and children, but she can also see that he now wants to live and live more fully than he had before he died. While she understood why he thinks that way now, it wasn't who he was and what he wasn't was a coward. He doesn't run away from things, he fights. He always thinks her to be so stubborn when he's just as stubborn as she is.

"For as long as I've known you, you've never been afraid of death." Quite frankly, she found it strange at first. Jon always spoke about how willing he was to give up his life for the Watch while they were traveling North of the Wall. He meant to die honorably back then, not in an act of betrayal. "That's always made you strong and honorable. It's what I love most about you."

"What has being honorable got me?" Jon asked, setting his jaw as he kept his focus on the floor. "My father was honorable, Robb was honorable, and they were killed for it. I was honorable and I was killed for it. Honor killed them and it killed me, too. This world is not meant for men who choose honor. It's every man for himself by any means necessary."

Her hands squeezed his as she feared that he would keep having those kind of thoughts. How was she supposed to talk him out of that way of thinking? "The world has failed you, I know, but I think it's time you get to build the world that you can believe in. No despairing, no making excuses or blaming others. You failed this time and you might fail again but if you want to win, you don't stop fighting." Aza had hoped her words made sense and would sink through. She was always terrible at consoling him and she feared she might've fucked this up again. "You're a fighter, Jon Snow. You can show the world that honor isn't sure death and that having compassion isn't a weakness but a strength. You can do that, you just have to _want_ to do it."

Aza scanned his face for a reaction as the silence hung in the air. It was starting to gnaw at her until he finally spoke; "Have I ever told you that I love you?" His heart seemed to glow in his eyes, making her feel flustered just as she felt this morning. Twice in one day did he speak his declaration of love and she's beginning to feel at her limit with it. How much full of love can she be? Her heart feels like it'll explode at this rate.

She fought away the grin she wanted to make and opted to shake her head. "No, I don't believe so." He brought her close for a warm embrace and then ruined that second of sweet calm when he pulled her down to the bed, letting the sound of his laughter fill her ears after her frantic yelp as they flopped on the bed.

"Well, I do and I always will." He leaned in to kiss her and it was sweet at first, a soft thing to match the words he spoke. The second kiss was much firmer and wanting, one arm around her waist and one hand raking through the thick hair at the back of her head. The third kiss? Aza could feel all the hunger he possessed, flaring her own cravings that she ignored. She was teetering on the cusp of begging to be undressed, wanting him to take her then and there.

Jon broke the kiss at last, laying his forehead against her own. "We should sleep. It was said that you needed more rest." How could he bring that up? How could he suddenly care for her health now after kissing her like that?

Clenching her jaw, Aza swallowed all the curses that were about to spill out of her mouth. He was right despite how much she hated to admit it. Fatigue still plagued her and having being cuddled up against him was starting to make her drift off to sleep.

"Aza Snow," she mumbled as she nuzzled her face against his chest. "It sounds nice."

She could hear the sound of his heart quickening at her words. A lazy smile came across her face at the sound of that thrumming heart she missed hearing at night. "It's a bastard's name." Within his happiness, he holds some sadness and reservations about it.

"I still think it sounds nice." There was nothing he could say that would change her mind. He may have hated that name and wished himself a Stark, but no matter the surname, she would take on any name if it meant she was his.

* * *

 **A/N** : When you really want to cry because Jon's curls were chopped but then you get Manbun!Jon and you gain 2000 life points.

You know, I find it a bit funny that despite how epic Jon's dramatic exit was… He had to come right back to pack his stuff. That's pretty awkward. Lol.

Sansa will be in the next chapter and all your curiosities of how her and Aza will get along _or not get along_ will be answered. And oooh boy, there's gonna be some drama afoot.

lilnightmare17: Writing Aza's emotions all over the place but still wanting to beat Thorne's ass was so fun. I think I enjoy writing her vulnerable side more than her confident side because this girl has a bunch of insecurities about a lot of things.

k00n: I'm starting to like cliffhangers. This chapter almost ended in a cliffhanger, but I'm giving you guys a break from that. I should make her protective to the point he can't piss in a chamberpot by himself. Lmao. Jk. Her being a Tully would've interesting but Tully features are pretty dominant and she would've been a red head with blue eyes compared to her dark hair and dark eyed mother. Arya was the black sheep out of the family although the show let Bran and Rickon look more like Starks. Not just that, yikes! Jon has his hangups with Catelyn and to find out a woman he loves is related to her? That would've been some fun drama to write now that I think about it. I think Jon would never hear the end of it if her father was apart of the Golden Company. She would've constantly brag about it forever. Now you know! I guess nobody expected Aza to be pissed off.

pikapyon: Aza would've never been satisfied seeing Thorne hang. I guess it would've been funny to see her run up on the gallows and stab him, but it wouldn't be satisfactory enough. I definitely left that part out. It fits so perfectly. Why didn't I think of that? They reunited and it feels so good until things get messy. c: Hahahaha... I'm sorry it took me so long to update! I usually don't take that long anymore. I remember when I used to update once a week! But I've been pretty busy lately and then I get distracted by Sims. Is it wrong I made Jon and Aza sims? Lmao. I'm super healthy so don't worry! I probably won't take so long again... hopefully.

purpleXorchid: I'm so glad someone is thinking about that! Aza is very trauma-prone and it's gonna be a rollercoaster for her for a while, especially after his death and then he gets crowned.

nerdylittlesecret: Really? I'm happy to hear that! That fighting scene was so much fun to write and I kept watching so many swordfighting scenes to try to perfectly write that and get that feel. I literally watched five different movies to write that scene. I have brought baby Snow back and he's getting all the love he deserves.

GOT: He's baaaack c:

Game Fan: Please don't hurt me. Lol. I'm sorry it took me this long.

Minstorai: Just picturing her smug "this shit don't scare me face" really cracks me up. Thorne likes intimidating people and you know he was pissed that didn't work. I get so giddy when people wished she was in the show because you know the show probably would've killed her. Lmao. I mean Ygritte was fated to die, but if Aza was in the show... I'm afraid her death probably would've been sad and gruesome. LOL I think Ramsay didn't fight Jon because Jon is literally considered to be a really good swordsman and I don't know why they suddenly retracted Ramsay's Falchion fighting. God, I'm really considering this because he's a dual-user and him and Aza fighting would've been so fun, but Jon's graceful spins would've been amazing too. Like... I feel _robb_ ed now. Robb. Haha... sigh. Definitely, Aza would've killed Ramsay in Yara's place, which might've been an absolutely bad thing. Yara had to consider Theon while Aza would've been like "no way, you gotta die."

nzOptimist: I'm glad everyone is happy she killed Thorne. I wish Jon killed him like that in the show, but I never get what I want. Lmao.

Shalise40: I'm so happy to read that! Ahh, I only make major changes when I feel it's necessary for me too. Thank you for reviewing, that made me so happy!

Guest: No need to crave, I'm giving you the update you deserve.

Hannah: c: Ahh, here it is.


	22. Chapter 21: Blood of My Blood (M)

**AZA**

Fingers—rough, gentle, and calloused—gilded languidly along the bare skin of her hip. Throughout the night, she has noticed that Jon Snow can't keep his hands to himself. He's always been a light sleeper, he stirred whenever she shifted, and hummed questioningly if she so much as made the slightest bit of noise. He rose with the sun as if it has some strange pull on him, but at night he's always listening and waiting as if something hides in the shadows. Normally she sleeps so deeply and heavily that she would've never been aware of a hand caressing the curve of her spine. She's vulnerable when asleep, but now she's hyper-aware of everything, specifically him.

A soft press of his lips greeted the back of her shoulder right before a hand swept back her hair so it brushed her back and fell over her shoulder. He's seeking room to do as he wants, regardless if she's asleep or not. Aza would like to think that he still thinks her sleeping because the thought that Jon assumed that he can do as he pleases whilst unnoticed in her repose entertained her. Had it not been ticklish hair that was his beard, she would've allowed him to think that. Instead, the bristles of hair make her burst into a giggling fit. Her laughter continued as he ran his nose along the shell of her ear and then it abruptly stopped when he took the sensitive skin of her lobe between his teeth for a nibble.

"You're awake," he said, pretending to be innocent when he was far from it. With a roll of her eyes and a huff of breath leaving her lips, Aza fought her way to roll over to face him with her eyes fully opened. His smile was lazy, eyes hooded and glazed with remnants of sleep. He looked freshly woken up and yet that had not stopped him from looking so pretty. Who does that? Look so pretty when they wake? Aza wanted to curse him for being so worthy of admiration even during waking hours.

"Your breath smells terrible," Aza told him playfully, scrunching up her nose to match her teasing words. It really doesn't, though. There's a lingering smell of mint still there while hers probably smells like watered-down medicine.

"So does yours." He tried to swallow her breath and her laugh by slanting his mouth over hers for a kiss. Feeling all the energy she has been missing, she put it into some use with swift agility by whipping her left leg over his waist to properly mount him.

"You think I want to kiss you after you said my breath smells as terrible as yours?" If there's one of the many specific things she loved about Jon, it was the transformation of his sullen face suddenly flaring with what was obviously embarrassment. He seemed genuinely worried for a moment that she actually took offense but since he could read her so well, he knew better than to truly believe it.

His hands had soon taken hold of her hips as if to keep her in place, halting her from going anywhere. As if she would rather be anywhere away from him. Whether or not his breath is pleasing to her nose isn't a real concern, not in the slightest. She does want to kiss him. She wants to lean down and kiss him until he's breathless, mussed, and muttering curses because kissing isn't all he wants. She would've done it had his face not clearly shown he was heavily thinking about something. "You never really gave me an answer last night," said Jon.

"An answer for what?" Honestly confused as well as inquisitive, she canted her head.

"I suppose I didn't really ask…" He seemed to have quickly realized. Jon looked nervous suddenly, almost like he was too afraid to say what he wanted to. Aza watched him, brow raised as he cleared his throat before giving her a steady gaze. He's suddenly so serious that it almost makes her anxious. "Aza, will you marry me? I know this isn't the proper setting, neither was yesterday…" There's a slight grimace, almost like it really took him a solid second to notice that. "But when have things ever been proper for us?"

He's right. Just about nothing had been proper about them and that was what she loved most about their relationship. All the right ways were skewered when it came to the likes of them. There was nothing romantic about the settings or timings of when they said or done anything. He first kissed her during an argument, they first explored one another while trying to survive the Wildlings from the inside, and he took her maidenhead in a dusty, dank library when there was a chance they could've caught along with the fear of dying by the hands of the Wildlings. Now he was proposing marriage, just a day after of thinking she had lost him forever. Their relationship was nothing bards would sing about or something storytellers would love to travel and regale about. It fits them; it felt perfect because it was imperfect.

"Aye," she answered him rather sheepishly. Heat rose to her face all over again and she was tempted to avert her eyes since her heart couldn't quite calm due to the way he was looking at her now. "I will marry you, Jon Snow."

His smile is broad and full of warmth yet there's something else lingering in the depth of his gaze and she can't quite figure out what it is. She's also sure that he doesn't want her to know and that only makes her curiosity soar. Her lips are ready to pry apart and ask what it is he isn't telling her but he sat himself up and kissed her. The kiss dissolved all her thoughts into nothing within an instant despite how badly she wants to pocket her worry for him in the back of her mind. Her thoughts, however, are drained and all she could focus on was the way his lips insistently parted hers, allowing her the feel of his tongue without hesitation.

Move for move she met him as her fingers threaded themselves into his messy and unkempt hair. She nearly sunk her teeth deep into his bottom lip when she felt him breaking their kiss. "Take it off," Jon mumbled against her lips, not at all pulling completely back as she feared he would. "Take it all off," he commanded, his voice thick with want.

Aza bit her bottom lip, almost ready to berate him for making her undress herself. He knows she's shy about it. There's just something strangely perverse about undressing with him watching her. She cannot comprehend why it unnerves her and why she also feels underlying arousal at the thought. If she were not aching as she does for him, Aza would've put up a fight about it. It's almost aggravating how she's becoming more and more tempted to not undress because she's curious about what he would do out of frustration. The last thing they needed was an argument.

She decided to oblige him. Between them now is her hands, undoing the fastenings of her jerkin. Jon continuously kissed her, doing his best not to crush her or her hands against his chest. She's shaking, nervous, and practically fumbling her way through but somehow managed to have the jerkin undone. She tossed it to the floor and removed the light chainmail and tunic until her top half is completely bare before him.

All that's left are her breeches and she unlaces them, giving them one final tug so that they are loose and ready to slip off. To make it easier, she climbed off him, and laid her back against the bed so that she could get them down her waist and past her thighs. All out of patience, Jon yanked them off right when they were down at her ankles and threw them carelessly across the room.

He undoes his own jerkin, his fingers are nimble and quick. He gets vexed, thinking himself not swift enough that he gets to a point where he starts to tear at what's keeping it all together. When there's nothing left, her eyes traveled down to his chest to see all the scars that were never there before until yesterday. It doesn't make sense how he miraculously healed and how the wounds are nothing but scar-tissues now. None of what happened these past few weeks makes much sense and it's probably best to not dwell on any of it, especially right now.

Jon certainly isn't dwelling on it.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, hips grinding against hers and the friction that his breeches create against her center makes her sigh happily. She could feel him, nudging himself right in-between her and hardening by the second as his hands glided down her sides. They touched the ripple of her ribs and down to the swell of her hips and it leaves her anticipating what he's going to do next since she has no idea at all what it is that he's aiming for.

Aza flinched when his teeth dug themselves into the skin of her collarbone. He was leaving marks again. Marks she once would've hated for him to leave no matter how good they felt when received. There's no more hiding now, thankfully. She can enjoy them without worrying who will see them. And for once, people will know he is the one who gave them to her and not the Wildling woman they always mistook to be her lover.

Jon soon aimed lower; nips at her breasts, gentle kisses against the scar of her stomach. When he wouldn't stop, her heart nearly imploded. With rough eagerness, he had spread her legs apart to give himself a full and raw glimpse of her. "When you left Castle Black," Aza kept her focus that was teetering to haze as a roguish smile played about his lips as he spoke; "I realized I didn't know how you tasted." Her face is at hot as a furnace and she's wondering if he had other fantasies while she was away. Aza tried her best not to think about him at all during the time spent away marching to Winterfell. Meanwhile, he was conjuring up scenarios and remembering perverse things.

He leaned forward, completely arousing her excitement to the fullest extent as he seemed to be aiming to lick her, but then he deviated at the very hauntingly last moment. Her jaw clenched out of irritation then immediately loosened at the warm, wet kiss he planted on the inside of her thigh. She's halfway ready to swear at him until he claimed a spot back between the juncture of her thighs and lolled out his tongue, leaving a stripe of his saliva on the seam of her heated folds.

"Oh!" Her gasp is airy as she reclined her head back. Why had he not done this sooner? If she knew of the pleasure to be had from the feel of his tongue in and against her sex, she would've sought for it often. What even possessed Jon Snow to even think of something like this anyway? Why did he want to put his mouth down there? What exactly did the North teach their Northern boys or was this something of Jon's own imagination? Her ego wants to think it's the latter.

She could hear him, chuckling, probably getting kicks out of her reaction. She could squeeze him between her thighs for revenge at laughing, but she's too interested on the sensation his tongue is giving her with the addition of the ticklish feel of his beard. He made the oral muscle roam restlessly as Jon had no real experience with this kind of act. He can't settle into a rhythm because he's too busy studying her responses to even formulate one. Until he does, she won't untangle her fingers from his hair to keep him down there.

He continued with slow movements, which only served to frustrate the living hells out of her, and she swears that he knows that. It's probably all her fault that Jon is so fond of teasing now. It's a given since she doesn't know when to end her own play and has to suffer when it's returned at his convenience. He soon remedied her ire, flicking his tongue and giving open-mouthed kisses that leave her quivering and swearing.

When Jon's teeth fastened delicately over the swollen bundle of nerves, she thought she could see stars. Tension ached throughout her entire body, unable to calm the overwhelming sensation of her anticipating climax. Squirming and panting, she can't seem to prepare herself for the jolt that pierces through her. The world around her explodes into stars as he extracted every drop of her, draining her until there's nothing left.

Her body fell limp, awareness coming back only in bits and pieces. Lifting himself up, Jon dove himself on top of her as she lied breathless and almost delirious under his weight. There's gloss of her on his lips and before she could wipe it off with a quick swipe of her thumb, he stuck out his pink tongue to lick it away.

This man was going to be the death of her.

"I want to try something," she said rather coquettishly. There's no time to pretend to be coy and she knew better to think that Jon would like her that way. He always enjoyed her forwardness, her complete and utter lack of restraint with actions and words. "Something I saw the whores do in the brothels."

She can tell he's excited and also a little curious. He likes knowing things, mostly about her and what's she has seen and done. But since she knows him too well, he probably wants to ask more than anything of why she saw these things and why she remembered them. Men, she realized during her time in the Watch, just can't seem to wrap their minds around the fact that girls are just as curious about sex just as boys are, even at young ages. In King's Landing, it's hard to have maiden eyes and ears. It's twice as hard to have them in the Isles than anywhere else.

"Lie down." He doesn't listen, at least not right away. He eyed her for solid minute, openly hesitating. With a furrow of his brows, he gradually does as she commands and she's able to straddle him again. He's as hard as stone beneath her. Despite his lack of understanding of what she's aiming to do, he hasn't softened at all.

Aza grasped the length of him, raising her hips so that she can position herself down and take him in with ease. Her brows drew down deeply at the center as he slides in deep. It was but a mere attempt, the way he tried to bite back the groan that rumbled in his throat. His hands reached out to grip her thighs, sinking in their nails, biting into her flesh.

It's steady and strong when she begins to ride him. Her memory is brief as it is less vivid, so she has to find her own sort of rhythm and experiment on what to do. She finds tucking her feet beneath her makes it easier to the work the length of him. She can raise her hips higher, almost to the point that he nearly slips out and he growls out in warning from the fear of losing her wet warmth. His fingers were starting to bruise her skin, nails leaving dents of crescents, and the slight pain he's inflicting only heightens her pleasure.

From here she can watch him, she can clearly see the way his eyes are glazed over. They're dilated, so dark that they look like voids of black as they drop down, fixating on where their bodies have joined. He flushed at the sight, pink crept across his chest and up his neck to his ears as his breath hitched.

"Aza—fuck!" Jon swore, teeth clenching in frustration as she writhed against him. His hips began to flex, thrusting upward as he's losing all sense of patience concerning this slow pace that she had set for them. Its what he deserves after all the teasing he has done.

He had thrust higher, deeper, forcing a straining cry to spill from out of her lips. Her eyes are starting to lose focus, stars daring to blind her all over again. She hadn't even noticed he sat himself upright until she felt his sweat drenched forehead resting against her own. Jon pulled her against him, holding her in place to fuck her hard and deep. It was impossible for her to last now that he showed the lack of mercy she had been craving.

Her release is the barest gasp of breath, a reeling over the cliff of pleasure; a warm sensation that increases in temperature with every minute that passes. Little jolts of pleasure hit her one after another, after another until she's completely lost in it.

Jon murmured her name with each impale. He said it over and over, almost like a prayer that melt itself into sounds and is reduced to a cadence of breath and hips. His teeth met her shoulder, sinking down for a bite so that he can muffle the sound of his broken, strangle cry as he flooded her with the warm rush that was his seed. His thrusts have become erratic and empty as he filled her to the brim, riding out his release.

She almost doesn't want it to end. Once they leave this bed, Jon has to decide whether Winterfell is worth fighting for or abandoning. He has to decide whether or not he has the heart to turn away from his pleading sister and his homeless brother or runaway and let the world fend for itself. Though she knows him too well to think he'll choose himself, Jon is too much at a standstill of what it is his heart finds worth fighting for.

All that she knows is that whatever choice he makes, she will help him see it through.

 **JON**

They've never held hands before, Jon realized. Fingers intertwined and palm against palm as they walked. She's just barely keeping up with his pace and he's aware that he's rightfully to blame for that. Jon can admit that he may have overdone it, but he can also admit that he doesn't regret any of it. The morning was still young and all he wanted to do was spend it with her in bed because the world doesn't really exist in that enclosed space with the two of them. During that entire time, nothing had mattered—not the White Walkers, not his death or the days to come—nothing, except the small Islander girl he wants to spend the remainder of his lifetime with.

There's a saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder and his last weeks alive prior to his death proved that. It was nothing short of misery for him. His hands had been aching for weeks to hold and touch her again since she left with Stannis and now that Aza is back, he knew no restraint. He had to refill himself with the taste of her, the feel of her, everything about her. If he's to die again, he wants to be so full of her that not even death can make him forget her.

"Are you nervous?" inquired Jon, wondering if Aza could ever be anxious about meeting someone. He's somewhat—utterly, completely, helplessly—nervous about Sansa and Aza meeting for the first time. It's clear as day that the two of them had such polar opposite personalities. They also both hailed from such different backgrounds that it's difficult for him think of anything that the two of them could mutually like.

In many of ways, Aza was much more compatible with Arya, and that only escalated his worry. Arya and Sansa constantly clashed, so what was stopping Aza and Sansa from rubbing each other the wrong way? All it could take was one word and the two of them would create enough friction to start a fire.

 _But Sansa has changed,_ he mentally told himself. Years of turmoil have transformed Sansa from being different than that girl he grew up with. She's not that same girl who used to sing sweet love songs about maidens and knights or the one that played the high harp with nimble fingers and a warm smile. She isn't that girl who saw the world in bright colors, like a Spring in full bloom that never ends. She isn't even that sister that keeps her distance from him, emulating her mother with cold words and taught dislike. Even Sansa's smile has changed, showing evident signs that she has hardened. The Lannisters and Boltons have completely changed her with all that they've done to her and their family.

"Should I be?" He can't tell what Aza is thinking and quite frankly, that makes him more nervous. "She's your sister. Once we marry, she'll be my family just as much as she is yours, yeah?"

Jon squeezed her hand, gently, but deliberately. "You've never been good with first impressions," he said, deciding that it would be best to be honest. There's no real use in sugarcoating his fears. With a sharp, irritated glare, Aza loosened her hand to yank it away from him. He doesn't let go in spite of her actions. "You asked me if I was mad when we first met. I didn't even know you were serious until years later."

Clearing her throat, he could see she can't figure out what to say in response. She's flustered because he has her pinned and she's having trouble talking her way out of this one. Jon expected her to try to settle for a 'shut up', but she surprised him instead. "I wasn't wrong…" Now it's his turn to glare. "What? Only a man touched in the head as you are would be taking someone like me to meet your lady sister."

"What's wrong with me taking someone I love to meet my family?" There's something more to her behavior and in order to get to the bottom of it, he stopped walking and pulled her close so that she had no other choice but to have this conversation with him. Was she actually nervous? Did she actually care how she came across Sansa?

With a sigh, she averted her gaze before giving him an explanation. "She'll look at me and think what it is that I can provide for you and she'll be right to think I can give you nothing." His expression softened as Aza's eyes finally met him. "To her, marriage is not love for the sake of it; marriage is give and take."

His sister who was once a hopeless romantic would've laughed at that, but now? Now she probably thought marriage is the most vile thing on earth. The smile on his face soon fell as the thoughts of the terrors Sansa suffered through came to mind. "You don't know my sister and you won't as long as you keep stalling."

Before she could utter another word, he pulled her along and heard her mumble as she tried to fix her footing after having stumbled from his pull. He allowed Sansa to stay in the King's Tower, seeing that she was an honored guest despite not being a king. It was his way of allowing her to have seclusion and comfort, knowing how much she desired it after what she told him some of what happened in Winterfell.

Standing before the tower's stairwell was Brienne, completely on guard. She didn't seem like the type who ever relaxed. She seemed always tense, always ready. Her hand was right near her sword if should have need of it, giving her time to draw it quickly without a wasted second. When they were close enough to draw her full attention, she bowed her head to him as if he was someone worth the courtesy before eyeing Aza skeptically. "She's with me," he clarified, but it wasn't exactly Aza that caused Brienne to be concerned. It was Flyssa on her back that made Brienne uncomfortable. "She can be trusted," he reassured her and whether or not Brienne believed him was up to debate.

Brienne went up the stairs first and they followed behind her just a few steps back. In a minute's time, Brienne had knocked on the door twice until Sansa's voice could be heard from the other side. Having been given permission, the woman knight opened the door and stepped in first. "Your brother, Jon Snow, and his company are here, Lady Sansa." Aza snorted at the word company, having found it humorous that she was reduced to that. Surely Brienne didn't know the right term to fit Aza and thought that was the only polite one.

"Let them in," Sansa commanded with a swiftness. Without fault, Brienne stepped aside and allowed them entry, but still kept her eyes trained on Aza's sword. Looking over her shoulder, Aza gave Brienne a once-over before falling in step with him as they made their way further inside the tower's large room.

By the window stood Sansa, the white light of Autumn's morning had bathed her from head to waist. Her eyes were peering out at the lack of scenery a tower here could have. All there was, was a vast stretch of empty land and a full view of broken towers since she was in the second highest tower of them all, but at least her view wasn't obstructed by the Wall. She could see the activity of the Watchmen and if anyone was coming to Castle Black's gates. Jon suspected that's why she was staring, wondering if Ramsay would be so quick enough to discover that she was here and aim to take her back. He wouldn't, at least if Jon had anything to do about it.

Jon had let go of Aza's hand, allowing her the freedom to stand in a way that was most comfortable for her. She looked unsure, if only for a moment. At first she aimed to cross her arms but then decided not to before her arms could properly fold. Then she tried one hand on her hip but then shook her head and slipped her hand off. Jon did his best to swallow his laugh, all too entertained by the thought that Aza was actually taking care of how she presented herself.

In the end, Aza decided to stand with her hands behind her back. It seemed almost shy, how she was standing, but he knew better than to think Sansa could make Aza bashful. She just didn't want to do with herself and was actually trying her best to make a good first impression. His words must've had some impact on her.

When Sansa finally turned around to greet them, she had a small yet pleasant smile on her face. "You must be Aza." With measured steps, she walked close until she was standing only an arm's length away. "Jon has told me plenty about you."

"It's an honor to meet you, Lady Sansa." Amusement tugged at his lips at the genteel behavior that hadn't suited Aza at all. It was odd, watching her bow her head because he's more than sure that she doesn't know how to curtsy.

Sansa then looked her way over at him, eyes warm and signaling that all would be fine. It was her silent and reassuring way to leave the two of them alone to talk. "I promised Edd that I would help him sort through some of the issues he'll be handling from now on."

Aza rose a curious brow, already seeing through his excuse. "We'll see you in the common hall," Sansa replied, practically hurrying him out of the room.

As Jon trekked his feet towards the door, he hoped that all his paranoia amounted to nothing.

 **SANSA**

 _"She does what she wants and what she believes, she's that kind of woman. She's true to herself and doesn't know how to change."_

That was how Jon described her, giving away his feelings for her before he spoke of love and of marriage. Sansa knew he loved her right away or else she would have to wonder if she was still that girl who used to be oblivious to the ways of the world. The first time he spoke her name made it all to clear. He said it in that very warm tone that their father once said her mother's and he even made the same expression, too. Both of them had such sad looking faces, but they had always looked so much happier standing before and speaking to or about the people they held dear. Sansa can't quite recall when she had ever seen Jon smile other than yesterday or glances she caught when he spent his time with Arya. But now? Now Jon smiles so easily and so often that it's even sewn into his voice. Somehow, this person has taken her brooding and sullen brother and made him warm.

"My brother says you're from the Summer Isles," Sansa decided to take the lead in this conversation. It must've already been much too awkward for Aza, who had fixed her gaze on the closest chair. "You can sit, if you'd like."

Relieved, Aza loosened her sword strap to place the sword's sheath end on the floor and leaned its body and handle against the arm of the chair. Once she took a seat, Sansa sat opposite of her as a small table with a surface shaped like a circle remained in-between them. "Aye, my blood is the blood of Summer," Aza clarified as she fiddled with her hands. She pressed the thumb of her right hand against the palm of her left. "I was born in the Isles but I spent most of my life in Westeros."

"He never told me a surname," she mentioned, having found that to be odd. Aza had no House? No bastard name? Nothing at all? "Do you have any family?" Jon hadn't told her much and she suspected it was his way of telling her to find out for herself. Sansa would've thought Jon would take special care to make sure the woman he loved seemed perfect in the eyes of others, but he had not bothered with false pretenses.

"I don't have a surname," answered Aza. "In the Isles, if a child is born to an unwed mother then they are given permission to take their mother's name, but my mother never gave hers to me."

 _She's a bastard, like Jon?_ she pondered. Sansa wouldn't be much too surprised if it were true. The Watch had felt like the only place a bastard safely could go, and it was one of the many reasons why Jon must've been adamant on going back when they left Winterfell. Her time spent as Alayne Stone only gave her little insight, not entirely enough to understand all the difficulties they lived with since birth.

"I apologize if that was uncomfortable." It was never Sansa's intention to make circumstance of her birth of too much of value. Parentage was important in Westeros, but surely Aza was already aware of that.

"Not at all." Shifting in her seat, Aza kept at it with her hands before lifting her eyes to meet Sansa's. "I know you Westerosi care about your places in life. How could I take offense?"

Sansa snorted rather lightly, doing her best to mute the sound. "If you are to marry my brother, you'll have to care." Discontent came across Aza face. "I want him to help me take back Winterfell and if he does, he will soon have the Stark name. He'll be a lord and you—"

"Will be his lady," Aza finished the sentence for her. There was no enthusiasm in her voice and Sansa was not entirely sure if she had actually expected for it to be there. The Islander was not the conventional woman, who might be overjoyed to know she'd move so far up in life. Being a lady was a high honor, especially if they weren't born one, but her? Aza seemed as if it was troublesome. If she found it troublesome than it was up to Sansa to reconsider her acceptance of her brother's wish.

On her feet now, Sansa ambled her way towards the hearth, wanting to be close to the warm comfort of the fire as she laced her fingers together. "If you have no desire to be my brother's lady, I must humbly suggest you break off this promise of marriage." Her tongue let the words roll off plainly, knowing that there was no other way to speak these words other than honestly.

"I want my family together again, back in our home that has monsters living and breathing in it. I am more than willing to accept you into my brother's life as part of our family because of what you have done for my brother and how you make him feel…" Her expression had flattened, showing how she took none of this lightly. "But if this isn't the life you want then I will not allow you to let Jon dare to hope for a life with you."

Silence hung in the air, thick and causing all who brought into this world to be uncomfortable. Sansa could not feel any sort of regret from saying what she felt needed to be said. It only bothered her that Aza had no reaction, almost as if she hadn't cared of the words spoken to her. Did she feel no fury? Was she not offended? Did she not feel her relationship with Jon threatened? Or had Aza thought it humorous that girl a few years younger had said these things in such a way?

"Have you asked what it is that your brother wants, Lady Sansa?" Tension found her body and seeped into her blood. "From what Jon has told me, he wants nothing to do with the politics of the world. He does not want to go back to Winterfell or be a lord. All Jon wants is a simpler life."

 _"I'm tired of fighting,"_ Jon had said to her as she asked him to fight for Winterfell alongside her. He had uncertainty in his eyes, almost like he could not find any inkling of a will to take back their home. Now he wants to runaway? Live the life of a commoner. He wants to give up his family for selfish desires. It's not like she can find fault in him for wanting that. Life seems to have worn him down. It was never fair to him in the first place.

Her head quickly whipped to the Islander's direction, only noticing at the last second that Aza had left the chair to stand before the hearth as well. Sansa regarded her carefully, unsure of what Aza would say or do. "Jon hasn't really thought any of these things out," Aza said as she crossed her arms. "If he thinks he and I can survive South without struggle, he's in over his head."

Confused, Sansa furrowed her brows together. "What makes you say that?"

The corner of Aza's lips rose before she lifted her eyes and met Sansa's gaze. "Jon doesn't know how to cook or farm. He's never been forced to fend for himself except during our time North of the Wall and fending for yourself up North and fending for yourself in the South is like comparing ice to fire. It will be nothing like he thinks it will be. I'd rather him get that through his head before it's too late."

"But you have mistaken me, greatly, if you think being a lady is what makes me unhappy. It's not being a lady that troubles me," she further explained, "and it's not Jon being a lord of Winterfell either. It's what you define as being a lady that I don't like. I hate wearing dresses, I hate being forced to mind my manners for people who think me no greater than a puddle of horse piss. I hate to smile when I don't feel like smiling, and I don't like handing out compliments to appease undeserving people."

Sansa's mouth twitched, and she was sure she fighting a smile. _This woman,_ she thought. _Arya would've loved her._ "I also do not care for the thought of putting down my sword because you Northerners consider women of the sword to be unladylike. I will not put down my sword to pick up a needle. I'm a swordswoman, I live and die by the sword."

"Then what you mean to say is that if you are to be his lady, you'll be his lady by your means?" That sounded like trouble, but Sansa was far from concerned with trouble. Trouble was all around them anyway. Perhaps the North needed someone like her; the kind of woman Arya wanted to be. The strict traditions only chafed Arya like a noose around her neck and if Arya was still alive, she might not want to come home because of that very fact.

"Aye," Aza confirmed her assessment. "I know that what I want might displease you, and it does seem like trouble not worth having. It's bound to have my own head aching as well as put you in positions you may not find of any worth. But I will never leave Jon Snow unless it's necessary for his protection or if he tells me to."

Now that she understood Aza's intention and her heart, she could not find any reason to worry about Jon. After all, he had been right when he told her of Aza's character. She does what she wants and what she believes in; she's unshakable. The ground beneath her feet will have to move before she does. If there were any concerns to be truly had, it was if Sansa accepting her and their marriage would be enough to sway her brother to join her to fight for Winterfell. If the woman he wanted to marry was this bullheaded then maybe… Maybe there was reason for Sansa to hope that Aza may be the right person to convince him.

 **AZA**

It was hard for her to decide what it was that she felt for Sansa. Along with her feelings that seemed jumbled, she couldn't gather what it was she thought of her either. At first, Aza felt something close to a looming wave of guilt after observing how guarded the Stark girl was and how she was trying her best not to be instantly mistrustful. Jon wouldn't elaborate what happened to her in Winterfell and Aza, for the most part, didn't have the heart to ask. Ramsay Bolton or Snow—she could care less whatever it is that he calls himself—was someone she once did not put too much thought into before. If she had the chance to know of the horrors he had done back when she marched with Stannis…

If she knew what she knows of him now, she would've done Shireen's escape properly. A plan that could've helped both Shireen and Rickon to safety but allowed her to stay behind and fight. She could've met Ramsay in the battlefield, possibly saving Sansa from more of his brutality. Although it still would've been too late to stop the forced marriage, she could've saved the girl by a day or so. And it all stemmed down to the fact that she was too impulsive. All she had put focus on was Shireen and Rickon, limiting her vision to what was in front of her. That was one of the things she loathed about herself. She's so impetuous that she never thinks about the larger picture painted all around her.

It doesn't matter, though. Sansa is out of his clutches and will remain so as long as both Jon and herself were still breathing. What would Sansa think anyway if Aza voiced any of this? She'd probably think she was being pitied and from what she can tell, Sansa likely wouldn't have wanted any form of it. "What is this?" Sansa whispered in her ear, her spoon poking the bowl of meat.

"Hell if I know," Aza kept her voice low, replying with the same look of disgust. "Hobb works with what he can, which isn't much I'm afraid."

Rickon must've gotten used to the food here because he ate just like the rest of them without complaints. The meat seemed hard to chew and his mouth moved awkwardly, which made her want to smile at the sight of it. Sansa extended her arm, using her thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth that had a splash of broth on it. Rickon went still under her touch, his eyes widening some before softening. It reminded her of when Jon explained that Rickon mistaken her for their mother when he first laid eyes on her and right then, he was probably reminded of the woman long since gone.

"Do you always eat so messily," Sansa said with a smile.

"No," he mumbled, like a child being scolded. "The meat is hard to chew, but who cares if I eat messily?"

Jon shook his head, his mouth curving into a faint smile before speaking; "We don't treat Rickon like a baby anymore. I'm surprised he hasn't slapped your hand already." If Aza would've done it, he surely would've fussed. He certainly wasn't that little boy that liked doting anymore, but she knew this moment for him was somewhat tender. After all, Sansa hasn't really come to know how much her baby brother grown other than physically and he shrinks himself to that boy of six who misses his mother around her.

"You are a lord, Rickon." Sansa's eyed Jon from the corner of her eyes as she offered an explanation, "A lord must care of how he eats. No person must think him barbaric."

It wasn't subtle how Sansa was trying to ease this conversation towards Winterfell. Aza remained silent, only thinking that her input should be inserted when the opening was there. She silently agreed to Sansa she would help her convince Jon, but she would not force the issue. Because she refused to eat this mess of a meal, she looked up to see Tormund eyeing Brienne. Aza brows furrowed as her eyes slowly slew from Tormund to Brienne, who looked entirely uncomfortable by Giantsbane's unrelenting stare.

Was he… Was he flirting with her? The realization suddenly dawned on her and she did her best to bite down her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing. Tormund just wouldn't look away, thinking that what he was doing was actual seduction. He sunk his teeth slowly and deeply into the piece of meat that was gripped tightly in his hands. His eyes were smoldering, a hard steel of blue full of invitation as he kept Brienne's gaze, even while yanking the meat off the bone with a fierceness. Aza's eyes began to water, doing her best not let out any sort of sound. This was utterly terrifying to watch but like it was some wreck. she just couldn't find herself able or even wanting to look away. Luckily, Brienne was horrified enough to break eye contact.

Worried, Jon fixed his attention on her. "Aza, are you alright? You're tearing."

"Its nothing," she choked out before screwing her eyes shut tight to keep herself from crying due to the strain of keeping her laughter in. "Really, I promise."

"Are you choking?" asked a concerned Sansa, probably making her wonder if Hobb's food was what made her like this. It was a good excuse to use so that Tormund didn't get his breeches in a bunch at her making fun of him.

"I think?" she lied, somewhat. "It feels like something is stuck."

Edd, embarrassed, decided to speak up. He must've felt responsible for Hobb's lackluster meal despite it being none of his fault. "Sorry about the food," he apologized, mostly to Sansa, who hardly touched any of it and mostly played with it with her spoon. "It's not what we're known for. You would think Aza would be used to it, though."

She was used to Hobb's food, Edd did have point there. But she was also used to skipping out on the meals she didn't like, too. Sansa continuously patted her back, actually concerned without knowing she was being tricked. Aza pretended to cough as if she were trying to clear her throat. It was ridiculous to act out this lie but she was already this far deep. There was just no turning back now. "That's all right," Sansa finally responded, giving Edd a small smile. "There are more important things."

Once she was able to gather herself, Aza coyly patted the center of her chest. Her smile was small yet hopefully reassuring, just enough to convince Sansa that she was actually fine. Unconvinced, the Stark girl handed her a horn of water. "Thank you," murmured Aza, feeling somewhat guilty for lying over something so silly and making both Sansa, Jon, and even Rickon concerned.

"Are you all right now?" Rickon asked after she took a refreshing gulp of water.

"I'm fine. I think I may have ate too fast." Another lie, little and white. It meant no harm although it felt unworthy of being said.

Once the attention wasn't on her anymore, things could finally settle. The peace, however, wouldn't last as swift as it came. The door of the common hall had opened, ruining the small time of quiet with the sound of his boots meeting the floor. It was Cole, playing messenger since he had a scroll in his hands. Aza normally would've said hello, but his expression looked much to stern for her to utter a word. For some reason, his arrival had not truly bode well with her at all.

When the distance between him and Jon lessened, he handed the rolled up parchment to Jon. "A letter for you, Lord Commander."

"I'm not your Lord Commander anymore," Jon said directly as he took the letter. Aza supposed that it will take some time for the Watch to adjust that it was Dolorous Edd that commanded them now.

Cole, without speaking another word, soon left as Jon's eyes stared at the pink-colored seal of the letter. Aza noticed the sudden tension that seemed to have boiled around Sansa. The girl was staring at the letter rather warily, almost as if she knew who wrote it. It was easy to guess who it was because Jon's face had became rigid, his jaw clamped tight, and his eyes dark. Anger flashed in them as he stared at the seal for a moment longer. Ramsay Bolton must've sent this letter, purposely writing it to Jon. Breaking the seal, Jon began to read the letter out loud:

 _"To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow,_

 _You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see."_

Jon looked up from the parchment, meeting Sansa's infuriating gaze. Aza watched as the girl's hand loosened and tightened, ready to ball up into a steady fist as she stared heavily at her brother.

 _"Your false king is dead, bastard. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. I have his magic sword. Tell his red whore._

 _I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You—"_

Words couldn't seem to leave him. Appalled at what he was reading, his eyes looked as if he couldn't bear to utter another word. "Go on," Sansa demanded, not wanting Jon to try to protect her. How was keeping this letter from her doing any good? She knew Ramsay, suffered at his hand. Coddling her will do nothing for her.

Still, Aza knew that as her brother Jon didn't have the heart to read the atrocities. She loved him for that, even if his concern meant nothing to his sister right now. "It's just more of the same," he tried to dismiss it. Sansa, however, took the letter from out of his hand to read the rest of its contents to them all.

 _"You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Come and see._

 _I want my bride back. I want your wild brother. I want your man-dressed woman. I want the false king's daughter and his red witch. I want the Wildling princess. I want the King-Beyond-the-Wall's little prince, the Wildling babe. And I want my Reek. Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black Crows. Keep them from me, and I will cut out your bastard's heart and eat it._

 _—Ramsay Bolton, Trueborn Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."_

All the words stung, only fueling the flames that burned inside Aza. Every word that left Sansa's lips that was written by his hand was like oil. Her hands had clenched into tight fists, her jaw rooted. Ramsay Bolton made a quick enemy out of everyone in this room.

"Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North," Jon quietly spat in disgust and disbelief.

"His father's dead." Sansa either already knew or pieced it together. "Ramsay killed him. He knows about Rickon and he knows about Aza. If we don't stop him…"

Jon's eyes lowered to look at the table. He seemed angry and tired all at once. "How many men does he have in his army?" Tormund asked, having already decided that Ramsay was someone who could not be ignored.

"I heard him say 5,000 once when he was talking about Stannis' attack," answered Sansa.

"Stannis had 6,000 men…" Aza shook her head, confused as to how Ramsay was undefeated. "6,000 against 5,000? He had lost some men when the Boltons sneaked themselves in and set fires to the tents. The fires burned away a large portion of his cavalry, but he still had more men than Ramsay. How did he lose?"

"Melisandre said half the army and then some abandoned him when they learned he tried to burn Shireen. Others left because the snow wouldn't let up," Jon explained, making it all make sense for her. "The Free Folk that went with you died and only about ten returned back to the settlement after helping you escape."

 _Stannis, you fool. You wanted to die, didn't you?_ Aza thought to herself, unable to comprehend how he thought he could still win. Perhaps it wasn't about winning anymore. His pride just refused for him to give up.

Jon turned to look at Tormund. "How many do you have?"

"That can march and fight?" From the top of his head, Tormund gave a solid answer. "2,000; the rest are children and old people."

That wasn't hardly enough. It left Aza to wonder who else they could possibly turn to. Sansa decided to seize the chance, leaving no room for doubt. "You're the son of the last true Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal. They'll fight for you if you ask." It made Aza think of the time when Stannis was asking for the aid of the Northern families and they told him that they only bend the knee to the Starks. Jon was a Stark in everything but name. Would they pledge allegiance to a Snow against another Snow?

Her doubts appeared shared since Jon looked none too confident about the chances of the North rallying behind him. Seeing as her words weren't sinking in, Sansa grabbed Jon's hand and held it tight. She would not rebuffed. She would not let Jon continue down this path of looking away. "A monster has taken our home and wants to take your wife, your brother, and your sister. We must fight, Jon. We have no other choice." Jon remained silent, his eyes looked away from Sansa's hand and instead stared at the table. His quiet filled the entire common hall, making them all still. None of them knew what to say or do.

In a matter of minutes, Aza could feel several eyes shift their focus to her. Sansa, Rickon, Tormund and Edd were staring, just hoping she knew the right words to say. She was never good with words and she always hated that when she needed them, they never came out right. "Jon, a word?" Her request left her rather firmly. Sansa had loosened her hold on Jon's hand just to give Aza's a quick and light squeeze as she and Jon both left their benches. They left the common hall, falling in step with one another as they walked. She settled for Hardin's Tower, the place Jon used to sleep before taking on the role of Lord Commander.

Her choice made his frown deepen, almost as if she was forcing him to think of days long gone. It wasn't her intention, but it was the only closest and quietest place. "You want me to fight Ramsay," he read her mind as if it were an open book. It wasn't really that hard to figure out why she wanted to speak with him alone in the first place. She just hoped he didn't feel pressured by her.

"Do you want to fight Ramsay?" she inquired of him, hoping he'd open up about how it was he truly felt.

"Let him stand before me and watch what I would leave left of him." His answer was quick and honest, and dare she say arousing. It was wrong time— an abhorrently wrong time—for her to find his anger enticing. He sighed heavily, eyes absently looking at nothing. "It's just… For so long, who I was meant nothing; I would not have the name or the lordship. My name would never have no rightful place in my father's will… I would be left with nothing and that's what I would have deserved. Now I'm supposed to fight for Winterfell, take back a part of the North that was never meant to belong to me. I wanted that—craved for that—in all my young years of life…"

"And now that you've accepted what you can and can't have, you don't know what to do seeing all your old dreams becoming a reality?" His eyes fixed themselves on her, revealing that she knew exactly what it was that he was feeling. Jon always tormented himself for always wanting things he felt too obtainable for a bastard to have. It made her feel grateful to not have been born in Westeros or else she might've had the same mentality. "What do you think your father would have wanted? Do you think he'd say do nothing because you're a bastard? That he would tell you to let the Boltons keep the castle that he raised you in as well as the North? You have no oath to hold you back. The only thing holding you back now is yourself."

How could Aza possibly know what Eddard, Lord of House Stark and Paramount of the North, could ever possibly want of his bastard son? She couldn't, not by a longshot. All she knew of that man were rumors and stories Jon told her about him. Out of all the things she learned about him, she knew that he cared about his family immensely. That much was true. "You and I will marry and perhaps have a family of our own. I think we owe it to them to have them truly know Winterfell than know of it."

That brightened his mood some. Hope glowed anew in his eyes upon the mention of a family of his own. "And Winterfell doesn't have to be yours. Sansa will be the Lady of Winterfell, like you once wanted." The thought dawned on him and just like that, she watched his shoulders become relaxed. "Both her and Rickon can be Winterfell's Lord and Lady."

"You're saying I'm overthinking all of this?" He's somewhat abashed as he asked her this. "That I worried about everything for no reason at all?" It's what he's good at: worrying. Jon is never without reason to worry, though. They've been alive this long all because he worried so much.

Her arms snaked around him, bringing herself so close to him that her chin is pressed against his chest. "Has there ever been a time you didn't have to worry?" Her smile grew when she felt his hands on either of her face, his gloved thumbs gently swept across her cheeks.

Jon's lips formed a smooth curve and the light of it reached his eyes. "If I don't worry then who will?" And he's right. If he doesn't worry then she'll have to in his place, and it's never good when she's knee-deep in anxiety.

 _I want to see you without worry,_ Aza thought as she gazed up at him. _I want to see you knowing nothing but happiness._ Her wishes were small and probably next to impossible. The day Jon Snow knows no worry is when the world is at peace, but when has it ever been? How could it ever be? Even once the White Walkers were gone, the world will always pull Jon in a thousand different ways. _Mother, did the world have the same kind of pull on my father?_ Her thoughts drifted to her mother and the forlorn look that always washed over her face upon the mention of him. _Did you have to watch as the world did whatever it wanted with him? Did you always wonder why it had to be him? Did you have no choice but to stand by and watch?_ Lowering her head, Aza pressed her face against the warm wall that was Jon's chest.

There was a saying in the Isles that always crept in the back of her mind:

 _The mistakes of the mother always follow the trail of her daughter._

 **?**

It's the eve of morning. The river he has known all his seven-and-ten years of life is soft and wends its way into the Summer Sea. His feet took him past the mouth and towards the shore where the sea meets sand and recedes back and forth in a continuous loop. The crashes of waves are like a song, and he has listened to it for so long and yet he never grows tired. He stops until he's just a step away from where the ocean kisses the shore. The blue canvas that was the sky is free of clouds, causing the seawater to look clean, soft, and gentle.

His time shouldn't be spent out here, gazing at the beautiful scenery. He's the Lord of this Castle, of this House, and he has many priorities. It's only the fact that it has been some time since he has been at home and seen the Summer Sea that he brings himself here. Obligations and duty called him back home, leaving the side of the Brotherhood without Banners. He still remained troubled by the chaos that erupted and continues on Westeros' soil since that chaos has now bled into Dorne.

Because of the Lannisters and the Mountain, Dorne is in turmoil. Prince Oberyn Martell's bastards and paramour have murdered three innocent lives and not just any lives either. Dorne's Prince and heir is now blood stained on their hands, not to mention Ellaria Sand thinks herself to be Dorne's ruler. But she's not without fault for thinking that since Dorne has given her the illusion that she is as well. There's commotions coming from all lords of many of Houses, but none of them have come up with the proper plan on how to deal with her.

All thoughts aside, his moment of tranquility that he had been searching for is ruined. The sound of feet crushing sand underfoot makes him sigh. Whoever it is that has come to bother him, he knew without doubt that whatever their reason for coming here is bound to be stressful. "My Lord," said the soldier armored in silver. "A letter from Meereen has come for you."

Meereen? The very place Daenerys Targaryen was said to be ruling as queen after bringing justice to the masters and freeing slaves? Confused, the young man turned around to have the letter properly placed in his hands. The soldier was right to believe it came from Meereen, who else would be able to have the black and red wax seal of a dragon with three heads? It was the very heraldry of House Targaryen that could not be duplicated. He broke it, quickly, unrolling the parchment to let his blue eyes devour each and every word written to understand why such a letter was sent to him out of all people.

His face washed blank with confusion until shock made residence. It was almost much too difficult to believe anything written here, but the Targaryen seal was authentic as well as all the detailed events before his very eyes. He knew that mulling over the contents of the letter would lead him nowhere and so, he lowered the parchment in his hands to fix his eyes at the soldier.

"I need you to hurry back and tell my aunt to pack her things and to start preparations for travel. We are without choice and must set sail to the North."

"The North, My Lord?" The soldier repeated, completely at a loss. "How far North?"

His eyes looked back down at the letter that he took care not to crush in his hands. "To Castle Black."

* * *

 **A/N** : I have 300+ reviews? Wow! Thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed. I've never would've guessed that this story would get all these reviews, faves, and follows as it does now when I first started. Not to mention the lovely PMs I get from people excited and eager about Aza's storyline. It makes me feel happy and full. I wanted to update sooner to celebrate when I first hit 300, but I got insanely busy and that's why I'm so late with an update. At least this chapter is lighthearted after all that heavy stuff.

Any who, I gave you guys a huge clue! So this whole plot of who is Aza's papa is turning and turning! c: Who's that in the mystery POV? You just have to keep guessing.

I would also like to add that it's pretty crazy of what I just read about the Philadelphia Zoo. They have a Black-footed Cat and her name is Aza and she had some babies! The babies, however, were named Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. Can I ever escape these wild coincidences?

This is the last of my rambling, but book!Ramsay is _sooooo_ dramatic. A pink seal? You thought it was cute to have your House's flayed man stamped on pink wax? With all your horrendous threats? Really? _Really Ramsay_? I really wish the show kept that. I also added some of the book's pink letter to the show's in case anyone was confused. Oh, and Val is considered a princess of the Wildlings, considering that her sister was literally the "Queen-Beyond-the-Wall".

Serenity10116: I'm sorry I didn't update soon, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter! c: A living Jon Snow is the best Jon Snow.

k00n: I'm cackling at a little monster. But we all know that Jon has trouble getting what he wants. My poor Jon Snow. All he wanted was to go the beach, take a sip of some beer, and say 'F U' to the world for a little bit and that just ain't happening. I think that's why the show killed Rickon off because I guess they knew it would make too much sense for Rickon to be KITN over Jon since Bran, who should be KITN, is considered missing/dead to everyone. Would someone as a wild as Rickon at 10/11 actually want to be KITN?

You're totally right, I always forget about Tyene. I guess the show made me forget how drastically different she looks compared to the rest of the Martells. I swear you guys come with the most awesome ideas and that sounds like so much fun. I personally can't find it in my heart to add Aegon into this story since I sealed by following most of the show's canon and I doubt the show is going to bring in Aegon. It would've been crazy if they did. I can definitely see JonCon (lmao) being absolutely bitter about Jon Snow, tho. That would've been drama within drama within drama. Then there's the fact we don't know if that Aegon is the real Aegon.

xoxo: I hope that I didn't give you too much of a scare. I have to agree, though! Young!Sansa and Aza probably would hate each other, but Sansa has definitely matured so this is the very result. I will still say they have some roads to go through together. I will never tear this sweet Jon and Sansa power sibling relationship apart. Never.

Guest1: Lyanna and Aza will be meeting in the next chapter and I enjoy writing is tbh. Lyanna is such a savage child, and I'm more concerned about Rickon and her butting heads.

gossamermouse101: It's strange, though. Once she finds out who her father is will she still want to take Jon's surname?

Rhyming With Oranges: Ahhhh, that's so sweet! And I try, I really try because we've seen Jon so unhappy and broody that it's hard writing an authentic healthy and happy relationship for him.

10? I can see Jon wanting that but never Aza. Never. She's already afraid of just one. I did promise this won't be a tragedy. c: So there's that.

jessegreen99: It's not like she has much to worry about since they'll have a father like Jon Snow. She's just paranoid, but she has her reasons. Living a good portion of her life as a boy/man has kinda left her insecure.

Miss Traductor: I love you, too. c:

kate langdon: But the Snow name won't last. That's the downside of it sounding nice. I hope you enjoyed their interactions, though. It's somewhat of an awkward.

pikapyon: It's funny how Jon even clarifies that it's a proposal, too. It didn't seem like one. I'm revealing it slowly but surely. c: And I can't answer any of that, but you'll be finding out soon.

minstorai: Makes me sad to think of little, broody Jon Snow. It's even worse to read about it because wow. He never forgets anything. I can't believe I have to change the whole layout of this battle because Jon is going to be less as impulsive and reckless than he was in the show. Rickon being alive is more a less a significant alternation to the show's universe. It's still going to be a wild ride, but what did I just sign myself up for? Lol. I'm still keeping him beating Ramsay to a pulp. That's never going to change. Oh definitely, they would've used her for man-pain. Ygritte wasn't man-pain wasn't exactly because she was predestined to die since she was first introduced. When you read and watch her on the show, you can kind of tell she was bound to die. But Aza, wow, severe man-pain because she was there since the beginning.

Mo: Ahh! Reviews like that make me happy. I love seeing people who don't usually review actually review because they like the story. That makes me so happy to read that. Ahhh! I'm blushing.

Guest: It wasn't my intention to be mean! I'm sorry for taking so long.


	23. Chapter 22: Bear Island

**JON**

The common hall had become somewhat of their war room. It wasn't the perfect setting, a place meant to inspire motivation, but it was all that they had. There was no other place and so they would just have to make do. No matter where they are, it doesn't change the fact that they must prepare themselves for the battle ahead. It would be the first one of many, though retaking Winterfell was of utmost importance and could not be met with failure. After all, Winterfell was the safest place of sanctuary should the White Walkers find a way past the greatest defense mankind has had against them all these centuries. Winterfell and a unified North… That was all Jon could ever bother to hope to gain for now.

The common hall was filled with many people: Sansa, Rickon, Brienne, Val, Aza, Davos, Melisandre, and Edd. Shireen even joined them, coming up for air from the library she had locked herself in for the past day. She tried her best to do what Samwell and Aza attempted and that was finding anything of use, specifically information, on the White Walkers. In the same likeness, however, all results were exactly what they already found. It didn't come as a surprise to Jon since no one knew the Watch's library better than Sam.

Melisandre had taken it upon herself in setting down all the tokens, pieces they used as symbols of the Northern Houses. She laid them down in their proper places atop of the map that was spread out on the table's surface. Jon had not requested nor demanded her to do it, but he supposed she must've done this plenty of times for Stannis and thought it would be quicker this way. His eyes slew away from her to glance at Aza despite trying to not let his gaze linger upon her for many reasons. Aza was far too enraptured in her conversation with Val to even notice. They purposely made their voices soft and low because the conversation was meant for the two of them and no one else.

Jon attempted to do his best not to draw her attention with his lingering stares. He tried to keep himself fixated on the map, knowing it deserved his attention more than she did. It hadn't helped when his peripherals caught sight of movement from her. From the corner of his eyes, he watched the way she pushed a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. It was nothing worth noticing, but it was in his eyes. It gave him a clear view of the bare skin of her neck where there are scattered and large purple-colored blemishes. Marks of passion, most people called them. And they were marks that _he_ left.

Just the sight of them had him blushing like an absolute fool.

"It is done," said Melisandre, forcing him to look away and bring himself to full attention to the map. His nod was slow, still full of distraction, but Melisandre did not question it. His silent approval was something she quietly accepted before taking a seat to await for this meeting to begin.

Just looking at all where the tokens were placed seemed to immediately frustrate him. It looked like a losing battle already. "We can't defend the north from the White Walkers and the south from the Boltons. If we want to survive, we need Winterfell, and to take Winterfell…" Jon threw a direwolf token onto the small pile. "We need more men."

Tormund had finally arrived, having taken a seat by the end of his sentence. "Aside from the Starks and the Boltons," Davos spoke up, "the most powerful houses in the North are the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Manderlys." Rising from the bench, he began to move all the Umber and Karstark tokens towards Winterfell. Their allegiance had been made clear already. "The Umbers and the Karstarks have already declared for the Boltons, so we're not doing so well there."

"The Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice." Jon knew not what to make of Sansa's words. Both the Karstarks and the Umbers had plenty of justifiable reasons for siding with the Boltons against them. The Greatjon Umber died with Robb in the Twins, and Robb took the head of Lord Karstark himself. Both of them lost the head of their Houses for Robb although Jon did not blame his for brother for either one of their deaths. Lord Umber chose death fighting until his last breath with his king and Lord Karstark gave Robb no other choice but to kill him.

"I beg your pardon, My Lady, but they know a Stark beheaded their father. I don't think we can count on either of them," said Davos.

Sansa, however, refused to believe it. "How well do you know the North, Ser Davos?" she questioned, holding a elegant sternness about her.

"Precious little, My Lady."

"My father always said Northerners are different." She glanced around the room before fixating her gaze back to Seaworth. "More loyal, more suspicious of outsiders."

"They may be loyal," began Davos, "but how many rose up against the Boltons when they betrayed your family?" Jon clenched his jaw, feeling pierced from Davos' solid and blunt fact. "I may not know the North, but I know men. They're more or less the same in any corner of the world and even the bravest of them don't want to see their wives and children skinned for a lost cause. If Jon's going to convince them to fight alongside him, they need to believe it's a fight they can win."

His grey eyes scoured the map, looking at the other Northern Houses that would more worthy of seeking alliance with. "There are more than three other Houses in the North: Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Mazin, Hornwood. Two dozen more. Together they equal all the others. We can start small and build."

It would seem that Davos agreed with him, and so did everyone else in the room. "The North remembers," chanted Sansa, repeating words Jon once heard before. It was the words of their father, of their blood, and he wondered if they still held true today. "They remember the Stark name. People will still risk everything for it, from White Harbor to Ramsay's own door."

"I don't doubt it." Davos then peered over at him, leaving Jon to wonder why. "But Jon doesn't have the Stark name."

Aza's eyes flickered to him and they both shared a look. It was one of his fears and wants coming to the forefront. "No, but I do." His sister had said it matter-of-fact, leaving him to turn his gaze to her. She did indeed have the Stark name, and there was no use in denying that fact. "Rickon does as well. Jon is every bit as much Ned Stark's son as Ramsay is Roose Bolton's, and there are also the Tullys. They're not Northern, but they will back us against the Boltons without question."

For the first time, Aza had decided to speak; "The Tullys? Wasn't Riverrun taken from them? Surely, they'll want their own castle back before helping us." The Freys were given Riverrun by the Lannisters, but Jon didn't know much of what was happening in the Riverlands as of now. Last he ever heard were that Tywin Lannister had men raze and pillage, destroying the innocent lives in retaliation for his son when Robb captured him.

"I myself didn't know the Tullys still had an army." Davos had also seemed doubtful of them joining their cause.

Sansa seemed rather optimistic about the idea. After all, the Tullys were her family. The blood of the late Lady Stark. "My uncle, the Blackfish, has reformed it and retaken Riverrun." Aza appeared surprised but accepted the answer without question. Jon, however, just couldn't gather just how exactly Sansa would know of that.

And so he was forced to take a step forward and ask, "How do you know that?"

"Ramsay received a raven before I escaped Winterfell," she swiftly answered, leaving Jon to wonder why would anyone tell the Boltons that the Freys failed to keep Riverrun? The Riverlands were none of their concern and neither were they strong enough to head North for vengeance. Jon said nothing, choosing to believe his sister instead of being suspicious. There was no reason for him to believe that she would lie.

"That's good." Davos seemed more hopeful upon hearing the news. "The Blackfish is a legend. His support would mean a great deal." Rising from his seat as Jon leaned against the table, Davos waved his hand over several parts of the map. "Stark, Tully, a few more Houses… Almost starts to look like a winning side."

"Where will we be going first?" Aza questioned, gazing at the map at the many Northern Houses.

"To Bear Island," Jon answered. "The Mormonts have always been fiercely loyal and if there's anyone worth reaching out to first, it's them."

"I'll have a few of the Watch go with you," Edd offered. "Since so many of you are going, you'll need the protection."

Finding no fault in Edd's plan, Jon accepted it. He could not afford Rickon, Sansa, and Aza being harmed along the way. "Then we ought to start making preparations now so that we can leave by mid-noon."

The meeting was over, and everyone seemed so eager to separate. He realized that he didn't have much to pack since he wanted to leave everything of the Watch behind. All he needed with him was Longclaw and the clothes on his back. Upon that realization, he stayed behind, surveying the map all over again in deep thought. Could they really pull this off? Was the North as faithful as Sansa believed, as their father once said it was? People change, and along with those changes were their allegiance. What if the Stark name meant nothing to them now, especially with a Snow among them? Who was to say that these lords would so much as open their gates to greet them?

It could just be the paranoia that filled his head, and he was sure it would amount to nothing except a headache if he allowed it to continue. With a deep sigh, he raised his head to see he wasn't completely alone in the common hall. Aza remained sitting on a bench, eyes scouring the map with as much concentration as he harbored a mere minute ago. He wanted to ask what was on her mind, but he thought against it since if she had something to say then she would've already said it. "Isn't House Mormont under the lordship of a child?" she finally spoke, pointing her finger at Bear Island on the map.

For a moment, he briefly remembered Stannis, who had been rebuffed an alliance with them. _"Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark."_ It nearly made him snort just recalling Stannis' pure and utter annoyance by the reply.

"It is," Jon answered with a slight smile. "I suppose you would like them. The women of Bear Island are said to be fierce warriors."

Her brow quirked, eyes flashing with interest. "Is that so? So there are women in the North who don't listen and abide to all your rules."

He rounded the table, taking a seat to her left before taking her hand and using her finger to point at the northwest coast of the North. "They didn't have much of a choice. They were always under threat, victims of raids from the sea." He couldn't recall much of Lady Maege Mormont, but he could remember some things the Maester taught him about the Bear Island's history. "The Ironborn would attack them from the South, and the Free Folk would come down from the Frozen shore to the North."

"Bear Island doesn't nearly have much harvest either. The lands are poor and most of their living comes from the sea. Their men are made to leave, fishing in boats all hours of the day to feed their families. Because the men would be gone for so long, the women were left behind and because of the raids, they were left with no choice but to defend their families and homes from the raiders."

For a moment, she soaked in his words before lifting her eyes off the map to meet his gaze. "I don't see why the rest of the North doesn't share these values," Aza replied, still rather confused and her brows deeply furrowed. "You never know when anyone will attack, so why ever leave your women defenseless?"

"I never understood that either." Jon shrugged his shoulders. It was why he was so supportive of Arya learning a means of defending herself. He'd rather have her slit a man's throat than to wait for another man to do it for her. Though, of course, he knew some women just weren't natural fighters. Sansa was fit for the courts, in the sea of politics, not being a warrior. If she had learned how to handle a weapon, Jon had to wonder how different her life would've been up until now. Perhaps he should give her something, a dagger of the sorts. He can trust that she can use it to defend herself should Brienne or Podrick be unable to constantly be near.

"You're not just any Northman, I suppose." Unsure if she was teasing or making an assessment, he looked at her curiously. "The North should have more people like you. Someone that understands and follows tradition but also keeps an open mind." Castle Black made him question all the things he had been taught, his morals among other things. He discovered the harsh way that one man could not keep one way of thinking forever. It made him wonder how his father handled doing things that went against his Northern values in favor of doing what he thought to be the right thing.

Despite all the mistakes he seemed to have made, Jon could never consider Aza as one of them. Even if being with her meant breaking a vow, he could not find himself feeling one ounce of regret. Just looking at her now, he found her to be the best choice he made in these past five years…

"Does the North still seem all that bad to you now?" asked Jon, a small smile on his face. "I know you love the South more." The Southron people were freer in a way that the North would never condone. He supposed that's why there's so much chaos going on there because people took their freedom past their limits. He was almost afraid that Aza would feel tied down by the North, constricted in a sense that she'll want to run away.

"There's just _so_ much to learn." She sighed heavily, sounding exhausted already. He supposed it would seem like a lot to learn, considering he spent his entire youth learning about the North as well as living in it. "But I'm willing… a little more now than before." There's a brightness in her eyes that he hasn't seen in quite awhile. It reminds him of the time when they first went North of the Wall, the both of them getting a taste of a new adventure. Little did they know back then that the adventure they were so eager about would lead to where they are now.

Jon parted his lips, wondering if he should ask if she also found it strange that Ramsay received a letter about the Blackfish reclaiming Riverrun. He couldn't be the only one to have found such a thing strange, but Aza and Sansa were building a relationship and it was starting steady. He nearly feared he could possibly ruin it by insinuating that Sansa was either hiding something or lying. Aza would try to get to the bottom of it if she also found it suspicious and he didn't want conflict over something so small.

 **AZA**

It amazed her how much Dalla's baby had grown. His grey eyes, still so big and full of promise, gazed at her steadily as she held him in her lap. He has teeth now and his words, though garbled, are somewhat easy to understand. "He'll have a name soon," Val said warmly as she took a seat opposite of where Aza sat. No more milk-names for him; he'll have a name that was of his very own, and something better than Wildling Prince or Baby Battleborn. Aza kept it simple, calling him 'Dalla's baby' because that's what he was, but soon… Soon he would be more than her baby, more than Mance's son. He's becoming a person of his own right and should not be defined based on who his parents were.

"In a fortnight, it'll be his name day," Aza mumbled, completely aware that this would be the second year of his life. The second year of Dalla's death, and even Ygritte's. It was also the anniversary of Rykker's death along with Donal Noye's. And she could never forget that Grenn and Pypar needlessly died that day as well. It saddened her, though not as much as it used to, but it still weighed on her. And who would've thought that something so small and naive of the harshness of life would be born on such a bloody day…

"So, Lord Snow has asked for your hand…" she so casually mentioned. The sudden change in topic startled Aza, just a little. She didn't expect for Val to learn of Jon's proposal so quickly, but she was sure Tormund must've told her after Sansa used the word wife in his presence. "I should be congratulating you and offering my help, but this Ramsay Bolton has left us little excitement."

Not even Ramsay Bolton could ruin the joy she felt. "I'm sure Jon's sister will feel more inclined to have control of the wedding." Aza knew nothing of weddings. She had seen a glimpse of one in the Isles, but not an entire ceremony and she was sure that a wedding here would be entirely different in comparison. Sansa was of Jon's blood, so it only made sense that she had the right to have more say-so. But in light of that, neither did it feel entirely right, considering the last wedding to happen in Winterfell was Sansa's own and to Ramsay of all people. "I'm sure she'll enjoy the help, yeah?"

Val could only do that small amused smile that only means trouble. "I will not overrule her." Aza doubted that, mostly because when Val says she'll do something, she'll try to work her own wishes through the midst of it. Not only that, Aza didn't feel the like the wedding should be extravagant. Her old self would've loved the flair, having hailed from the Isles and growing up seeing much of the South's dramatics. Castle Black, however, had humbled her, greatly, and so she found no use in events being over the top. "Will any family of yours be attending?" asked Val.

The question made her heart feel heavy. Her mother should be there to see her getting married, shouldn't she? It's despairing to realize that no family of hers would come, especially when such an event is so family-oriented. She could invite her uncle, but her heart was still hardened towards him. If she were to extend an invitation to him, she was sure he'd come here with the sole purpose of using her. That was all he was ever good at; using people and then completely losing his worth in gambling.

Aza peered down at the boy in her arms, faintly smiling as he inspected the tooth around her neck. "No," she answered, carelessly devoid of emotion. She did not want to lay all her emotions about her family to Val, especially not now. But because Val knows her well, she did not push the issue and instead gave a nod that meant she would back off the topic at hand. "Do you know Jon is so eager for a baby and I'm so frightened of one?" The boy in her arms tried to put the Shadowcat's tooth in his mouth, but she quickly slipped it from his grasp and hid it beneath her clothes.

His hand slapped where she hid it since his eyes followed her every movement. The boy became entirely eager to have it back in his hand again. "Is it the baby that frightens you or is it becoming a mother?" Aza could curse her for how quickly she figured that out. "Any woman that wants a child has her fears of how she'll be like when raising one. After all, tis' a life that entirely depends on you and the lessons you instill in them shape them forever." Her fear dug another level deeper now that she heard it be put that way. What if her child grew to be reckless and violent? She surely was, even more so before coming to Castle Black. When times were needed for her to be soft, she could not imagine herself ever being so gentle and nurturing like her own mother.

"I was always afraid Dalla would be child-like forever," Aza glanced over at the blonde-haired woman, whose eyes looked lost in a different time. "She always never seemed eager t' grow up and always had her head elsewhere. She never did like facing what was in front of her. When she met Mance, she started putting her feet on the ground. I'd like t' think that it was he that matured her some, but when she learned she was to be having a child… Dalla was nothing like the little girl I knew. The Dalla you met was different than the one I had always known."

Growing tired for searching for the tooth, Dalla's son had searched for something else to pique his interest. He inched to leave her, making Aza put his feet on the floor as he wobbled around to find something new. Aza watched him with curisoity, suddenly wondering what a child with her and Jon would look like. She hoped it would have Jon's curly and messy hair and his smile. "But I believe you'll do fine, Aza." Val seemed confident in her words as her nephew walked over to her. "It's time that you stop drinking moon tea."

Her mind went blank and her tongue felt like a ton. Val's words put a weight on her that she hardly felt a single muscle in her could be moved. Stop drinking moon tea? Allow herself to become with child? She and Jon weren't even married yet, and she—

Her thoughts were interrupted when the flap of Val's tent had been parted. She was here with Jon to meet with the Wildlings to ask them to fight with them again Ramsay, but she had wanted to see the boy before the meeting began. She had hoped it was Jon to come tell her that it would start, but surprisingly it was G'winveer that waltzed herself in. For once—and possibly only just this once—she was glad to be interrupting during such a serious conversation. A smile came across her face once G'win's eyes met hers. "I was going to see you as promised." As slow as she was going about it, Aza truly was going to see her.

"Really?" With a quirk of her brow, the redhead girl rolled her eyes. "If I waited for ya, Winter would already be here." She smirked at Aza's instant annoyed frown. "I heard from Wun that you were here and so I came once I knew my wounded was tended to." Ambling further into the tent, she knelt by Dalla's son and gave him a playful pinch to which he gave her a cheeky grin. Seeing as the boy did not fuss, Aza suspected he must've been used to the gesture.

"You made it sound serious last we spoke," Aza said, halfway trying to prepare herself for what G'winveer wanted to tell her. "Is it serious?"

"Depends." With a shrug, G'winveer sat cross-legged atop of the bear-skin rug. "When I was up North searchin' for Folk, I met a man. He looked like one of the Crows." Taken aback, Aza rose a brow. "He helped me when I got in some trouble but he wouldn't tell me his name. I'm guessin' he didn't really want me goin' around tellin' everybody about him, but I thought you and Lord Snow ought to know since you might know 'im."

For the life of her, Aza couldn't guess who this man could be. Could it have been one of the men that went with Mormont during the Great Ranging that got separated? But why wouldn't he make his way back to Castle Black? Why would they stay North of the Wall? Her brows furrowed as she pondered. "What did he look like?" asked Aza, wanting some more clues.

"Black of hair and dark eyes, and he had himself a beard." G'win seemed to remember with perfect clarity, so much she hadn't even took a minute to think about it. "He was pale in a very strange kind of way, though. Almost like he was dead but he wasn't." That had left Aza twice as confused, but her gut felt a wrench as if she knew him. Something was telling her she knew this man and it was starting to sit at the tip of her tongue. "Whoever he was… I'm sure he got a reason for stayin' that far North. Foolish as it is."

All she could manage was a slow nod, having felt all her curiosity tamp down some. Aza decided she would think on it, and even approach Jon about it when the time was appropriate. "I wonder if he…" The words trailed to silence as even speaking Brandon's name filled her with immense guilt. Was he still alive? Did he find what he was looking for? She tried her best not to think a Bran because she didn't want to think about how she let a child essentially throw themselves into danger. It was so much harder not to think of him now considering the threat that doomed them all was steadily approaching.

 **JON**

He couldn't wrap his mind around in what warranted the change of her behavior. Perhaps it was just too presumptuous of himself to think he was the reason. Aza seemed fine before, but when she stood with him during the meeting with the Wildlings after seeing Val, she was oddly quiet. It was… strange. She spoke few words here and there yet her head remained bowed, and her eyes would rather look at the ground than ahead. There was glaze over them, almost like she was too lost in thought to not even care for her surroundings. Hardly did he ever see Aza behave like this and he knew it had to be something serious to have her this way.

He attempted, twice, to find the cause of it. He asked what bothered her, trying to coax it out of her in the gentlest of tones, but she would merely smile and give a shake of her head. He would've dismissed it had the smile reached her eyes. Jon knew that if he continued to ask her, she would think he was hounding her and grow irate. He would have to wait for her to come to him or else ask again in private. They were in open land, surrounded by Watchmen, friends, and his siblings. Camp wouldn't be made until nightfall and by then, they would be a good league away from Castle Black.

Jon had hoped they could share a tent despite Sansa slyly eluding that it was unbecoming since Aza would soon be his bride. He knew that his sister gathered that their relationship was nothing saintly and she only said what she did all in good fun.

 _"They shared his tower,"_ Rickon had interjected, outing him in such a casual manner. _"What's the fuss about them sharing a tent?"_

Never, not once, in his life had he felt his face burn as it did then. In the end, he felt it to be worth it upon hearing Sansa's laughter. Although it came at his expense, his heart softened at the idea that his sister could still find humor in such silly things. It hadn't stopped her from being worried about how much or how little Rickon knew about the relationships between men and women, even going as far as lecturing him for not explaining to Rickon about intimacy. He was naive about it like a baby and Jon still couldn't find the courage to sit down and talk to him about it.

 _"He'll be a man soon,"_ Sansa reminded him with her brows bowed. She had looked so much like her mother, mimicking the exact expression of when he saw Lady Stark chastising her children. _"I'm not the best person to give him such teachings."_ Jon couldn't decipher if it was because Sansa feared speaking about it or was uncomfortable with talking about it with her baby brother. Either way, Jon knew that it was his responsibility since there was essentially not another person that could. No Maester… No Robb…

The fire had been stoked and he stood by it to let its warmth rid him of Autumn's biting air. Rickon had just left him, asking where Aza was and Jon had no clue as to where she had gone. After the tents were put up, she wandered off. He was tempted to go look for her, but he found all temptation burning to ash when he heard someone walk in and turned to face her. Her eyes looked heavy, her hair windblown, and she clutched at her furs with tight fists.

"Where did you go?" he asked first, hoping it was a good start.

Removing her cloak, she laid it atop of a chair and walked to where he stood. "For a walk," she answered him, "since I have plenty on my mind." He outstretched his arm, hoping to reel her in for an embrace to comfort her but he stopped when he noticed the way she stared into the fire. The orange and yellow flames made her face aglow, highlighting the shape of it and unveiling she was still very much troubled. "G'win told me somethin' and I wasn't sure how to talk to you about it." She slowly lifted her eyes from the fire to look up at him. "She said she met a man North of the Wall and he looked to be of the Watch."

Jon drew his brows together, unsure of why such a thing laid so hefty on her mind. He also couldn't quite gather why a man of the Watch would remain North and never return to Castle Black. "And I've been trying to wrap my head around it for hours…" She raised her hand, placing the heel of her palm against her right temple. He did his best not to laugh, finding her confusion and frustration worthy of adoration. "From the way she described him, I'm beginning to wonder if it could be…" she trailed, giving him some understanding of what direction her mind went.

Instantly, he knew who she suspected. "You don't think it could be my uncle, do you?" Jon believed Benjen to be dead. His uncle was undeniably faithful to the Watch, so much that he wouldn't abandon it and stay North of the Wall for nearly five years. He left Winterfell, willingly, for Castle Black. It just didn't make any sense for him to just up and abandon the order.

"It could be." Aza seemed steady to believe it. "We never found a body or nothing to prove he was dead. We just assumed…"

She had a point. There was no evidence to prove that he was dead and it was something the Watch just accepted. If his uncle was truly alive then why did he not return? What was keeping him so far North? "I didn't know him long, but I know that he doesn't do anything without a purpose." Sometimes Jon had forgotten that Aza was in the Watch before he was. She had spent time with his uncle, sorely a few months before he arrived, and so they had gotten acquainted. Aza seemed to know him well enough to know that this was very much unlike him. That is, if that man G'winveer met was actually him.

"I wasn't sure if I should tell you because I didn't want to be wrong." A smile, small but there, had came across his face. Aza worried herself for hours on end all because she was concerned about his feelings over the matter. With a single step, he brought her close with a gentle pull until she was pressed completely against him. It startled her at first but eventually her arms wrapped around him.

"Even if you were wrong, what would change?" Jon asked. "If my uncle is alive, he's seeking something and that's why he hasn't returned. It would be wrong to search for him if he doesn't want to be found. He would've let us know long ago that he was still alive if that was what he wanted." At least, that's what Jon had hoped. He hoped his uncle had a reasonable explanation for not coming back to Castle Black. It just really didn't seem like him to just up and quit being a Watchman and roam mindlessly.

He felt her sigh and it didn't sound like it was out of relief. "Benjen and then Brandon… I feel like it's my fault that they're both out there." Aza forced herself away from him, eyes downcast. "Ser Jaremy offered me the chance to help the Halfhand look for your uncle but I turned him down because I was angry with you. Then Brandon looks me in the eye, telling me about some Three-Eyed Raven with a strange boy who knew things he shouldn't and a young girl. I let him go because some stupid part of me believed him. I could've saved them both from whatever reason that has them out there but I didn't."

"I let children go into danger and before that, I pettily chose to stay behind because I was angry at a friend who missed and worried for his uncle." Her voice sounded faint, almost as if she hadn't wanted to admitted it out in the open. Did she truly feel that guilty? It had wounded him to know that he did not see that she harbored this guilt for so long and now it was getting the best of her.

His hands found themselves resting on her small, strong shoulders. Of all the things she had put on them, she didn't need this guilt along with it. "Bran wasn't safe here, remember?" Jon reminded her. "There was no place he could go that didn't put him in danger. The White Walkers are out there, aye, but Ramsay Bolton is here and who is to say what he would've done had he found Bran. Bran is more of a threat to Ramsay than Rickon, Sansa, and I put together."

When he found out Aza let Bran go North of the Wall, he was furious. He wanted to be angry and fault her should something befell his little brother. It was Robb's death that made him rationalize that Bran's life was in more danger than it ever could be in the North. If they could kill Robb the way that they did, what would they do to a crippled boy? "If you would've left with Qhorin Halfhand, you still wouldn't have found my uncle. You might've even saved Bran's life by letting him go." Rickon was easy to lie about, but Bran? Everyone in the Watch would've known who he was. It was much too obvious.

Her head didn't completely raise yet she looked at him up through her eyelashes. It was almost as if she afraid to believe him, to absolve herself from guilt. "None of this is your fault, Aza. It never was. Not any of it."

"You say that," she practically mumbled, "but that isn't how I feel." Averting her gaze, she looked back at the fire and Jon wondered if there was anything else he could say. Her feelings were hers and it was always difficult to change how Aza felt about certain things. She was either nonchalant or passionate, and right now she felt her feelings fiercely.

"Why are you so bull-headed?" jested Jon. "Are you going to still be so stubborn even when we're married?"

Wrinkling her nose, she immediately folded her arms. "You knew that before you asked for my hand and now it worries you?" When their eyes met, he was delighted to see some happiness there. She did her best not to show it in her face, but those irises of brown said it all.

"It drives me mad." Unfolding her arms, she aimed to slap his arm only to grow more frustrated once he chuckled. "But more than that, I wish you'd get it through your head that you can't change the past. Why punish yourself over something you can't change?"

She stood still, soaking in his words. "You're right. I can't change any of it…" With a slow nod, she let out a huff of air. "I ought to learn to let some things go."

"I'm not telling you to forget, Aza." Jon tried to make clear. "I'm only telling you to accept it. I'm still learning how, too. It's not easy to let some things go but we'll overcome it."

That was enough to make the corners of her mouth curve upwards. There, in plain sight, was the smile he loved.

 **AZA**

Before them were large gates, a sight that Aza could not help but to behold. After the short sail and the steep hills past the villages, she had been entranced by the carvings of the gate once they were up close. Etched in the old wood that were centuries years old was a woman dressed in the skins of a bear. In one arm was a babe, suckling at her breast, and the other held a battleaxe. A woman, by no means proper by any Westerosi standards, was carved onto that gate for all to see. And Aza had thought it to be one of the greatest things she had ever laid eyes upon.

There was no time to keep marveling, of course. The gates had to part and they had to pass through all the while praying that the Mormonts would join their side. The guards allowed them entry as soon Sansa stated their names. By now, the Lady-Child should've been aware they would come while they traveled from Castle Black before crossing the waters.

Mormont's Keep was nothing really compared to the castles she had seen. Nothing could ever compare to the beauty of the Red Keep. Winterfell? Well, Aza had never seen it but she had hopes for how it would look along with Jon's descriptions. This Keep, however, looked like a cabin made into a castle; wood-walled and earthen palisade. It made her curious how it looked in the inside, but such curiosity would be sated once they left their horses.

It felt good to leap off the stallion. Saddle sores were inevitable, especially since it had been far too long since she last used a horse as means of travel. Her hands were itching to massage her aching thighs but she did her best to mask her pain along with the tiredness she felt. Jon had to keep his head on straight and he couldn't if he worried. Aza felt that she bothered him enough with Benjen and Bran, so much so that she kept quiet over what Val had told her. It also didn't help that the nights were harder to sleep through, and she couldn't find anything or anyone to blame for that.

How could Aza tell him that in the past few nights that she would suddenly jerk awake? She can never tell him that she has to listen to his heartbeat when he sleeps now. Her body will wake itself in the middle of the night, her skin glistening with sweat and her mind vivid with the memory of how her ear heard nothing when she pressed it against his chest when she found him. How could Aza ever explain how that steady rhythm in his chest—strong, sure, defiant and comforting—kept the living nightmare that was his death that followed her?

"Aza!" She jumped, forced out of her head by the call of her name. Her eyes darted around, looking for the source to find it was Rickon who demanded her attention. "Are you alright?" The concern was all there and he seemed as though he was wary of what her answer would be. He expected a lie, and she hated that it was exactly what she was going to give him.

"Aye, I'm fine." She didn't smile out of the fear he'd see right through it. Instead, she kept a neutral expression before mussing his wild hair to distract him.

With a snort, he wrestled himself away from her hand. The boy only fell slightly into her diversion. "You've been acting strange lately." He didn't bother to fix his hair, he only kept his focus on her as if she mattered more than how he appeared before the Mormonts.

"I know," she heaved a sigh as she replied, "but it's nothing for you to get tense about, yeah?"

Pursing his lips, Rickon seemed to have accepted her answer. "I'm here if you need…" He didn't finish his sentence but Aza understood what he wanted to say.

It was quick, the kiss she gave the crown of his head. He blushed furiously and looked around, afraid of who had seen. "Aza!" he admonished her. Rickon is no boy (so he thinks), he's a man. She must treat him like one, even if seeing him so flustered was amusing.

Aza said nothing except pushed him forward. "Oh quiet. It was just a little peck." Rickon ranted about it, even as they walked their way inside the keep. "Is there poison on my lips? You'll be my good-brother soon enough."

The red hadn't fully vanished yet, but his eyes gave her a sharp glare. "So that means you'll kiss me often once you and Jon are married?" asked Rickon.

A smirk was sufficient enough to make the boy squirm, giving her the reaction that she wanted. She could see Sansa watching from the corner of their eyes, about to fret about something. "Why are you walking so far behind us? You should be walking up here." Sansa's pale hand took hold of her wrist, urging her forward and Aza nearly stumbled from the sudden action. "You are to be Jon's wife and you must make your place known."

The Islander, baffled by all reason, had blinked twice. She had forgotten there were a new set of rules to be followed and there would be even more once she was titled as wife. She barely followed the rules of the Watch and now she had to do her best of following Westeros' rules when it came to Houses and all that other junk.

 _Fuck_ , was all she could outright think.

Before entering the Great Hall, they had to complete the guest right. Aza had never heard of it and to a fault, she could blame it on being a sellsword. Why would a killer care about being a proper guest? If they must get inside their home to kill you, why should they fear a sacred law? Besides, the only ever castle she had ever had the luxury of stepping in was the Red Keep and it was never for a long time. There was still so much she had to learn.

 _Fuck_ , she thought again.

Bread and salt were presented, to which Aza looked up at Jon with wide eyes full of confusion. He looked at her, smiling as he did, before picking up a piece of bread and dipping it into the salt. Aza mimicked him, looking up at the servant who watched them with full concentration. Eating the salted bread, Aza did her best not to frown at the taste. Salted bread? It shouldn't be a surprise, Northerners lived as they ate; plainly. She ate it for the sake of the guest right and that was enough to allow them into the Great Hall.

Aza could barely bother to look around as they entered, she was too busy in shock at how young the Lady of Bear Island was. As she suspected as well as was told, she was a child but she expected at least a girl of four-and-ten… Not actually a girl of ten. This small and pale little girl sat at her high table, looking stern and noble. It nearly took everything for Aza to not rub her eyes to see if she was seeing wrong. But how could it be wrong? This was the child that had been made to lead when her mother and sister died in the War of Five Kings.

"Lady Mormont," Jon spoke first, breaking the odd silence that hung throughout the air. Rickon shifted close to Aza, his expression nonplussed. He seemed to have not cared that a girl his age was ruling a House.

"Welcome to Bear Island," said Lyanna. She seemed welcoming, if you could call a hard stare and obvious wariness welcoming.

Even Jon found himself much too uncomfortable to continue. In fact, he looked to Sansa as if it were better she handled this. With a slight smile, Sansa kept her eloquence despite the sudden responsibility. "I remember when you were born, My Lady. You were named for my Aunt Lyanna. It was said she was a great beauty. I'm sure you will be, too." Aza wanted to roll her eyes. She supposed flattery was a good start as any.

"I doubt it," Lyanna dismissed it quickly. "My mother wasn't a great beauty or any other kind of beauty. She was a great warrior, though. She died fighting for you brother, Robb."

It was almost physically painful how she diced Sansa's compliment and then proceeded to remind her of what Bear Island had lost because of their family. Aza felt the need to cringe but chose an expression of neutrality, wondering if coming to Bear Island was a great mistake.

"I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna." Jon mentioned Commander Mormont, almost making Aza feel twice as uncomfortable. She had a love-hate for that man and to think she came to the home of his family in efforts for aid? "He was also a great warrior and an honorable man. I was his steward. In fact—"

"I think we've had enough small talk," Lady Mormont interrupted. "Why are you here?"

Oh? Oh. Aza could laugh. Her eyes looked up and around, fighting off the grin. As much as it annoyed her how this child found it right to disrupt Jon, she couldn't help but enjoy the girl's forwardness. Sansa and Jon were trying to appeal to her in all the wrong ways and Lyanna made it known without so much as daring to spare their feelings.

It made Aza wonder if she should keep to silence. After all, she was no one of importance yet. Sansa may have acknowledged her place, but this Lady-Child had no real reason to. "Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed," Jon explained. "He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men. It said—"

"I remember what it said." The girl made clear before repeating the letter word for word; "'Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.'"

"Robb is gone, but House Stark is not. And it needs your support now more than ever," pleaded Jon. "I've come with my sister and my brother to ask for House Mormont's allegiance."

For a moment, Lyanna leaned towards the old man to her left. He was donned in a Maester's attire, painfully reminding her of Aemon for a split second. They whispered, their voices perfectly low so that the none of them could hear a single word. It wasn't long until she turned back to look at them, her dark eyes specifically resting on Jon. "As far as I understand, you're a Snow and Lady Sansa is a Bolton or is she a Lannister? I've heard conflicting reports." She then looked to Rickon, remaining unimpressed. "And are you sure this is your brother? I heard he had been burned alive with your crippled one by the hands of a Ironer your father fostered."

"I did what I had to do to survive, My Lady." Sansa's voice hardened, eyes cold. "But I am a Stark. I will always be a Stark." Rickon looked as if he was ready to howl and so Aza place a hand on his shoulder, a quiet encouragement for him to keep calm.

"If you say so," Lyanna spurned. "In any case, you don't just want my allegiance. You want my fighting men."

Perhaps she allowed herself to remain quiet too long. Aza was certainly starting to think so. This was becoming a lost cause and she wasn't sure if it was because Sansa and Jon weren't prepared or because this child was a prickly little something. She had no respect, no regard or sympathy, but Aza supposed neither Jon or Sansa demanded it. They were trying to be careful with their words and it was costing them.

"Ramsay Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell, My Lady. It is our duty to stop him. What you have to understand, My Lady, is that—" And again, Jon wasn't allowed to finish what he had to say.

"I understand that I'm responsible for Bear Island and all who live here. Why should I sacrifice one more Mormont life for someone else's war?"

This was going downhill, which was twice as worse as going nowhere. Feeling as though Jon and Sansa were inept in persuading this child, Aza decided to take matters into her own hands. She stepped forward, ignoring Jon's sudden tenseness at her actions and Sansa's widening eyes. Neither one of them could stop or sway her, and she was sure they realized that by now. She kept walking, going as far as to make the guards brandish their weapons and for Lyanna to grip tightly to the arms of her chair.

"You're right, we need your fighting men. Honestly, we could care less about your allegiance." The girl's head slightly canted, eyes keening she stared. "Allegiance doesn't mean much these days, especially when it comes to the North and their overlord."

That seemed to pierce her. For a moment, a little hand had balled up into a tight fist. "You dare to say that House Mormont lacks loyalty? And who even are you to make such accusations?"

Her jaw curved, a smirk ever present on her face. "When King Robb Stark called for banners, your mother answered. And though I know you're not your mother, I expected the same kind of loyalty would run through your veins. I must've been wrong." If the girl's glare could be any sharper, Aza would've felt as if she was standing before the sharp end of a spear. "But to answer you, I am Aza, of no House. Most would consider me a foreigner and of the commonfolk, but I'm a bastard as well. Why am I here? It is because Jon Snow finds me special enough to marry. Mad, isn't he?"

A snort could be heard and she knew it to be Jon. Aza did her best not to smile, knowing that smiling was too gentle for the approach she was going for. "I know how it feels to be young, motherless and making decisions you should not be making as a child. These are years you must learn and grow, not deciding who gets to live or die." Lyanna's gaze softened, just a fraction. "House Stark shares the same wounds as you do, but the wounds will fester if Ramsay remains Warden of the North. The War of the Five Kings may be over, but there's a much greater one coming and if Ramsay remains with this power, everyone will suffer."

"And what war is that?" questioned Lyanna.

Aza, for once, didn't actually how to answer that. Would the girl kick them all out if she even uttered the words White Walkers? Davos noticed her hesitation and stepped forward until he was at her side. "May I speak, My Lady?"

"I don't know you, Ser…?" she inquired.

"Davos, My Lady, of House Seaworth." Davos bowed his head, showing a deep politeness. He had all the manners Aza never possessed. How strange that it was that they were almost cut from the same cloth. "What Aza means to say is that your uncle, Lord Commander Mormont, made that Jon Snow his steward. He chose Jon to be his successor because he knew had the courage to do what was right, even if it meant giving his life. Because Jeor Mormont and Jon Snow both understood that the real war isn't between a few squabbling houses. It's between the living and the dead. And make no mistake, My Lady, the dead are coming."

Lyanna looked at Jon curiously. "Is this true?"

Jon nodded before offering an explanation; "Your uncle fought them at the Fist of the First Men. Aza and I fought them at Hardhome. We both lost."

"As long as the Boltons hold Winterfell, the North is divided," clarified Davos. "And a divided North won't stand a chance against the Night King. You want to protect your people, My Lady. I understand but there's no hiding from this. We have to fight and we need to do it together."

Lyanna looked at them both as her Maester leaned forward to whisper in her ear again. Surprisingly, the girl shooed him with her hand. "Aza, of no House." The Islander snorted, her smirk melting into a smile. "You were right. My mother answered Robb's call and here again the Starks call the North. I am not my mother but I share her values and House Mormont has kept the faith with House Stark for 1,000 years. We will not break faith today."

A sigh of relief wanted to leave her, but Aza kept her cool. Everything could've turned out a mess or worth nothing if Lyanna found her words rude or if she kept her silence. She also supposed that she must thank Davos for coming in and knowing just what to say. "Thank you, My Lady." Jon seemed all the more gracious from his tone. Aza had yet to turn to look at him, feeling it would be rude if she did not give Lady Mormont her undivided attention. "How many fighting men can we expect?" A question worth asking and one Aza was eager to hear the answer to. Just how many men could they have lost out on?

This time, Lyanna learned towards her right to whisper and Aza couldn't gather who that man in particular was. He must've been a soldier or general, something of the like since he was donned in armor. "62," she answered.

"62?!" Aza practically shouted. "You had us nearly grovel for 62 men?!"

The girl almost looked amused, and Aza couldn't quite blame her if she did. She was sure the foolish surprise that was etched on her face was truly humorous. "We are not a large House, but we're a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders." Her words didn't suffice and quite frankly, Aza felt utterly annoyed. All this damn trouble for sixty-two men!

Davos, however, continued to be courteous. "If they're half as ferocious as their lady, the Boltons are doomed."

Aza glared at him from the corner of her eyes, thinly missing the smile that stretched across Lyanna's face for the first time since they arrived. "The hospitality of Mormont Keep is yours. You may stay for as long as you like."

"Thank you, My Lady." Sansa had sound at ease again. "We'll only be staying for the night."

There were too many Houses to visit and time wasn't on their side. "I see." Lyanna then looked to her servants that stood idly across the Hall. "Have them shown to their rooms and accommodate their needs." Aza watched the women obey the order and turned to follow them. "Aza, of no House." The girl called her, halting her from taking another step. "I'd like a word with you alone." Aza exchanged a confused look with Jon, Davos, Sansa, and Rickon.

Doubting there was anything to worry about, she waved them away with her hand a fleeting smile. Jon and Rickon lingered for a bit, slowing their steps while Sansa seemed to trust that she could handle herself. Aza watched them leave, brow arched as Jon and Rickon kept turning to look at her. What did they think? This child could not intimidate her in the slightest.

Once they were gone, Aza turned to face Lyanna as she sent her Maester and the man to her left away. Soon the Great Hall was just the two of them, aside from the two guards at the door. "Jon Snow said you fought the dead at Hardhome." She wasted no time. Aza liked that this girl did not play silly games, talking in roundabout ways. "How can that be? As I was informed, he was in the Night's Watch."

"I was also in the Night's Watch, My Lady." Aza watched as the girl seemed genuinely surprised, brows raised. "I pretended to be a man."

"You…" she trailed, still lost in disbelief. "You pretended to be a man? For what? Why? Castle Black is hardly worthy."

Not one lie was said. "I told you I was motherless and I too had to make decisions a child shouldn't be making. I entered a company of sellswords and because it was unsafe to be a girl, I dressed myself as man. I was caught by the Gold Cloaks and they sentenced me to the Watch."

A look of understanding came across her face. "I'm curious of your might. Would it be too forward if I ask to see you fight?" inquired Lyanna.

"Never," Aza answered with glee. "Give me your best warrior and I'll give them the dust."

 **TYRION**

"She'll be furious to know you used her seal." Tyrion's eyes lifted from his half empty cup of wine to meet the brown eyes of Missandei. He suspected that Daenerys wouldn't approve of how he took a matter into his own hands, but he had to do it. It was the right choice and he would stand by it. "What was so important that you had to use her seal for the letter?"

Tyrion decided to take a drink first before answering her question; "I've come to find out that the man that was most loyal to her brother had a child," he said. "And this child is from a House that could greatly support Daenerys once we set sail for Westeros. What I'm doing is for her benefit." He would never admit that he also did it because he, in the softest of hearts, would be reuniting a person with long lost family.

Missandei looked at him skeptically, almost as if she could hardly believe him. He was used to such looks and so he remained unbothered by it. After all, he was still getting to know her and Grey Worm and it had been a rocky start. "Who is this man and his family?" Curiosity clawed at her, he could tell by her voice but Tyrion enjoyed letting the suspense run its course for as long as he could allow it.

"If you know anything about your Queen, you would know that there was only one man that would've supported Rhaegar no matter what he did. Even when he tore Westeros apart, that man was there right at his side."

* * *

 **A/N** : I am sooooooooooo sorry for taking so long to update. I was sick really, really badly and was unable to do much of anything. I'm still sick but better than how I was. So, I'll be a bit slow for a while until I'm back to my normal self.

Also sorry that this chapter is hardly eventful aside from Lyanna and Aza meeting. The next chapter is gonna be really, really fun though! And by fun, I mean drama. I promise you that since there's a person I'm adding into the story that isn't in the show. I can't say what her presence will mean, but tension afoot along with Aza's mystery dad plus the Battle of the Bastards.

I would answer reviews, but I can't because this wi-fi is terrible and it erases everything. I'm sorry for that, too! But I'll be back home by the next chapter, so gimme gimme!


	24. Chapter 23: Battle of the Bastards (M)

**AZA**

"I…" It was rare for her to be at a complete loss for words. Her eyes were as big as she can make them while her hands smoothed down the grey material of the dress she wore. "I can't…" Her head shook feebly, both brows arched as she lifted her eyes from her skirts to look up and over her shoulder at Sansa. What could she possibly say? Aza wanted to be mindful, though it was arguably difficult to conjure up a stringent enough sentence. She had told Sansa a week or so ago in Castle Black that she did not like wearing dresses and so it left her befuddled that Sansa would take her time and skill to personally stitch her one upon knowing that.

Blue eyes kept themselves focused on the laces, pulling them so tight that Aza grimaced from the pain and the sudden bit of an air stolen from her lungs. Sansa slyly bit back a laugh by catching her bottom lip between her teeth. She thought it was unseen but Aza caught her using her peripherals. "I don't understand why you're so worried," said Sansa. "You look like a lady." Did she? There was no looking glass and so she had to rely on Sansa being honest. "We'll be meeting with House Manderly and Lord Cerwyn. If you are to be taken seriously as my brother's woman, you must look the part."

The Islander supposed that made sense. Many of the other Houses they visited to ask for fighting men and House allegiance seemed to have a care for her appearance, especially when it came to carrying her sword. There was disapproval embedded in many of their eyes, taking her for some tiny, foreign, breeches-wearing brute that had no right to be promised to Jon. Although they were not as shocked as they were when they first laid eyes on Brienne, the Tarth woman was less judged because she was not the one that would soon be apart of the Stark family. Jon may have been born and raised a Snow but he was still Ned Stark's son. Bastard or not, they still upheld high standards even for the likes of him.

It was by luck and thinning patience that she did not react like a hurricane. She made no scene, simply ignoring those old-fashioned high lords and those prissy ladies as best she could with her head held high and shoulders squared. Aza saved all her anger in her room or the training ring, cursing them and using practicing dummies with their faces in mind while appearing like an unshakeable force in their presence. She kept up with the pretenses for the sake of this battle for Jon and politically for Sansa. She hated doing it, absolutely abhorred in all this pretending, but all of this was bigger than her. Her feelings did not matter in the slightest now.

"There is no doubt at all, Aza, that you are a warrior." Sansa had successfully lured her from her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. "Your clothes do not define that. You are a warrior whether you dress yourself in steel or lace."

Aza found her lips slowly taking the shape of a smile. "You're right," she practically murmured, "but you didn't have to make this for me."

"We're family," declared Sansa, having knotted the laces and nitpicking anything that she felt needed fixing. Once pleased, the Stark girl had walked around Aza so that she was standing in front of her. "Us Starks look out for our own."

 _Family._

Her throat felt tight suddenly and she kept her eyes averted, unable to look Sansa in the eyes now. The girl barely knew her for long and already she considered her family. Aza didn't know what to make of that, but for sure she was happy that Sansa felt that way. There was still a lot unspoken between them and a lot to be learned about the other, though the progress had been slow. Aza purposely kept it slow, for Sansa's sake, knowing how guarded she was. Meanwhile, she could tell Sansa skated around most things she wanted to say, mostly out of fear of offending Aza. Everything became sensitive between them because both had a deeper understanding of why the other was the way they were.

"Should we show Jon?" inquired her soon-to-be sister. There was a mischievous smile on Sansa's face, a twinkle in her eye that seem both unlike and very much like her.

Jon had seen her in a dress before. It wouldn't be new and so Aza didn't think they would get much of a reaction out of him. Still, part of her was curious. "You think he would care?" Aza asked, head tilted. "He saw me in a dress before but I don't think he'd paid much attention." Why would he? They thought they would never see each other again. He did call her beautiful, though. She would never forget that.

Pursing her lips, Sansa seemed almost disappointed. Her hands went to fiddle with Aza's hair, which she managed to magically tame. Instead of coiling up like it had recently from lack of care, her hair had been brushed and styled to neat, loose waves that they naturally were. It surprised her to find out how lengthy it had become, now reaching halfway down her back instead of brushing her shoulder blades. It would be wise to cut it soon or else she'd fear it'll be troublesome in the days to come. She couldn't go out to battle with her hair this long and a sword in her hands. How could she fight? Aza feared dying stupidly; blinded by her own damn hair.

"No matter," Sansa sighed. "Since you've worn a dress before then you must know how to walk in one." There was a special way to walk in dresses? Looking entirely lost, the Islander watched Sansa heave another sigh, this one being much heavier. "Gather your skirts," she instructed.

She knew how to do that. Aza had seen plenty of noblewomen and lowborn girls alike do it. Grabbing her skirts by the handful, she lifted the ends of them from off the ground so that she could properly walk. A pale hand slapped both hers lightning fast, stunning Aza and making her look at the Stark girl in utmost surprise. "You don't gather them like that or else you'll wrinkle them! And you've hiked them much too far! Do you want men staring at your legs?!"

Would it matter if they did? They're just legs. Aren't men more curious what's between them than the actual legs themselves? Aza frowned, deeply, and locked up her jaw. This wasn't going to be easy and Sansa looked mentally exhausted at the prospect of teaching her basic etiquette. This was why wearing breeches were better and she'd rather their scorn than to do all of this to appease them. They still wouldn't care for anyway, with her being a foreigner and all.

"This is going to take a while…" Sadly, they don't have a while. A mile ahead is White Harbor and Jon would rather make fast than linger here at camp. In another hour or so, he would come or send someone to tell them to ready for departure and all that Sansa wants to teach Aza would probably be only worth a minute of what a highborn child learns.

 **JON**

Swinging himself onto the tall back of his stallion, Jon breathed in the cold air of a new day. The sun had just barely risen, and the coolness of morning was only a bit welcoming. It'll dip soon, making them all clutch tightly to their furs until they reached New Castle. Lord Manderly had been willing to meet with them and Lord Cerwyn had as well, opting to meet in New Castle because of the danger of Sansa and himself getting too close to Winterfell. Their acceptance of their request to come to New Castle had lifted Sansa spirits since neither one of them could forget the harsh rejection they suffered from Lord Glover. His words were like a sword through the chest.

 _"I served House Stark once, but House Stark is dead."_

The memory made him grip tightly to the reins. He wanted to forget the whole encounter, knowing that remembering it would only serve to rouse his anger and disappointment freshly anew. It had been terrible to lose a house that sworn themselves to their family for centuries, but Jon would not miss Lord Glover in the slightest. They could fight this battle without him and if the man held such a love for the Boltons so much, Jon did not care if they followed them to death as well.

His head turned to the direction of Sansa's tent, patiently waiting for them both even though it was beginning to wane. It had been three hours and some time ago since Sansa stole her from him this morning and he hadn't had the faintest idea as to why. It wasn't unusual for Sansa to inquire after Aza or for the two of them to be alone, but for this many hours? It was peculiar. "What's taking them so long?" whined Rickon, who looked as if he was still tired. His eyes were drooping and his body kept slumping forward. He could barely take proper hold of the horse's reins.

"Girls always take longer to get themselves ready," Jon remembered hearing that once, a long time ago. Way back when he tried to learn about girls so that he didn't make too much of a fool of himself. He couldn't recall who told him that or why they did, it had proved true regardless. "Sansa wants to make a good impression on Lord Manderly and Lord Cerwyn. If we were to have them on our side, we'll see our army grow by a thousand or so."

His baby brother rolled his eyes, fighting a yawn in the process. "As if Lord Manderly or Lord Cerwyn care for how they look…" he mumbled in annoyance. "Aza doesn't even care about how she looks. She's fine as is."

Jon had bit back a smile, wanting to utter that he agreed with what was said. It might help them if Aza did care, even if he were content to her true-self. Speaking of her, Aza left the tent first, distracting him from responding. He was surprised to see that she was still in her breeches, dressed as she normally was. The only difference was her hair wasn't a wild tangle of curls anymore. It was brushed, parted down the middle, and framed her face prettily. The charm of her coiffure was lost on her, though. In fact, she seemed annoyed with it from the way she kept pushing her hair back over her shoulders and even that wasn't enough to calm her. Eventually a stray strand of hair danced across her forehead, right before her eyes, and she began huffing. Out of frustration, she raked it all back until she was content that it wouldn't be a bother.

"See, she doesn't care." Rickon smirked, seemingly happy that the change had been minor. "All Sansa did was brush her hair." Blue eyes met his, shimmering with satisfaction. "I bet it's cause Aza wouldn't wear a dress."

Perhaps. Jon knew how much Aza didn't care much for dresses but she would wear one if the situation called for it. He could remembering the flutter of the black skirts from the last time she wore one. The cloak covered much of it, doing its very best to hide the way the dress fitted her. In the back of his mind, he was curious to see her donned in a dress without a cloak to obscure most of it. Would it accentuate her figure in ways a jerkin couldn't smooth out? Would she spin, curtsy, and walk with a gait of nobility? The thought seemed too strange and he couldn't decide whether or not it was humorous or exciting. Aza acting ladylike just seemed almost bizarre to him.

Grey eyes followed her as she climbed onto her horse after skipping her way towards it. Faust, she named him. She used to go on Mount Watches with him and had great affection for the horse and was happy to know he did not go North of the Wall with them. Now she wouldn't part with him. If she could, she'd take the horse everywhere with her.

Sansa left the tent soon after with Brienne trailing behind. She looked… worn out. Arching a brow, Jon wondered just what it was that the two had been doing for three hours and why Sansa looked as if she had been through war herself. He would ask later, when they had a spare minute since now was the time to start on the road to New Castle without anymore distractions.

They headlong galloped, the sight of White Harbor's walls becoming clearer before them. The stone before them was whitewashed and aged yet more than prepared to ward off any attacks. There were soldiers afoot, guarding and protecting the wall with an array of weaponry and once they saw the Stark banners, they did not brandish their weapons so casually. They had been let through the portcullis without so much as them being asked to state their House and their business, possibly due to Lord Manderly's orders.

He looked to his left at Sansa, she was riding beside him a steady gait. The smile she gave him when she caught his glance was quick and nervous. They gained and they lost, and losing felt more devastating since their numbers weren't as great as they envisioned they would be. Jon understood her wariness and he had hoped that coming to White Harbor was not in vain. To his right, he saw Rickon who perked up, looking more awake than he did when they left. Jon supposed that he was entranced by White Harbor since Aza certainly was.

Her eyes lit up in a way he never seen them do before. Her teeth sunk down on her bottom lip, eyes twinkling brightly like stars during a moonless night. His mouth eased itself into a small smile, wondering what charm the harbor city had over her. He soon realized it was because the woman he loved spent most of her life in a city herself. Of course, this place must've reminded her of what used to be what she considered home.

"It's smaller than King's Landing," Aza soon commented, eyes observing everything they could drink up. "And cleaner."

"It doesn't smell like shit either," Sansa added, surprising Jon with her swearing. Shireen laughed while Aza cackled at his sister's reply. It was clear to see that they both agreed with her.

"I hope you're not rubbing off on my sister," playfully warned Jon.

Aza wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm not so bad of an influence." She frowned when he coughed into his hand in jest. "Oh, shut up!" she spat before rolling her eyes and pouting her lips ruefully. After the laughter died down, they were off again, going further inside the city.

All around them were houses made of whitewashed stone, making the place look bright when the weather was so stormy. Being near the harbor during Winter made everything appear more grey, more dour, but the constant white of the houses was such a huge contrast. Eventually, New Castle came into view since it was almost too difficult to ignore. The keep sat on a hill, pale like the stones of the houses. Among the towers was the merman sigil of House Manderly, and it flew proudly and boldly as the gusty wind blew.

"I see the Manderlys have not declared for King Tommen," said Ser Davos, breaking the silence he kept for some time after the light bantered he engaged with Aza. He seemed he too had a penchant for teasing her. "Neither do I see anything to indicate they are still loyal to your family." House Stark's sigil should've been on one of the towers, but it wasn't. Surely Lord Manderly had not called them all the way here just to reject them.

"We mustn't assume," Sansa replied. Davos words made her nervous, Jon could tell. Her eyes hardened as she expelled all doubt in a single, soft sigh. "If he called us here then it must mean he's willing to help us."

Conversation had quieted again as ahead of them were men garbed in armor and the like at the foot of the hill that led the way up the castle. The man who stood before all others didn't seem to be Lord Wyman Manderly, perhaps another who had been tasked to greet them. "Ser Marlon Manderly," he introduced himself once they were close enough to hear him. "I am Lord Wyman's cousin, commander of his garrison, and I'm meant to greet you and make sure you're well. Lord Wyman suggests you get your rest and prepare for the feast he's having in your honor. The travel has been long and tiresome, I should think."

A smile came across Sansa's face as she gave a slight nod of her head. "That will do fine, Ser Marlon. It has been no easy feat to travel this far south."

Leaving their horses and taking what little that they brought with them, they were led up the white stairs built into the hill. Ser Marlon had been swift on gathering their names, mentioning nothing of his cousin or what he thought of their arrival. He seemed friendly, if only for show. Jon had an inkling that he also found their request to remember who they sworn their loyalty to as troubling. Just like Davos had mentioned, no Stark sigil was among the Manderlys. It was as if they meant to say that they pledged loyalty to no House.

The inside of New Castle wasn't much different than Winterfell. There were banners, shields and swords that were long since faded, worn from use and time as they hung on the walls. All of them held history, history that dated back from long ago when the Manderlys once lived and ruled in the Reach. Ser Marlon had been pleased when Aza and Shireen asked about some of the items, showing genuine interest. He was quick to give them lessons about each sword, shield, and banner they mentioned along with detailed fight that they were used in.

The history lessons had been brief when servants came flocking, guards behind them donned in wools of blue-green and silver tridents in their hands. Jon watched them warily as Ser Marlon took a few steps ahead, telling the servants to tend to them as best as possible. Each one of them was given a personal servant and as they split down the hallway, Jon glanced over his shoulder to see Shireen, Aza and Sansa with their arms linked with Brienne in tow. Podrick followed behind Rickon, who seemed ready for a nap than he did for a feast.

After being shown to his chambers, Jon took a trip to the privy and finally had a servant draw him a warm bath. All the sweat and grime of days traveling through the North was finally washed off his skin and hair. Jon sat contently in the warm water that soothed all the aching tendons that came from nonstop riding, walking, fighting as well as everything else and in-between these past weeks. It felt almost too good to finally be able to sit and rest, to take a moment and not think of anything except how good the water felt. The peace wouldn't last, though. His mind always had to think of something he would rather not think about.

Jon began to wonder how it would feel to be back in Winterfell again. He hadn't thought of going back in a such a long time that it was almost strange how it was in his thoughts now. His eyes fell close, his mind's eye conjuring up of Winterfell's grey walls and the warmth that seeped from them. He could remember his bedchambers, small and quaint that suited him just fine. He could even remember how his window faced the godswood and how he would stare at it at night. Jon had always felt drawn to the weirwood more strongly during the night than the day.

Suddenly the smell of the godswood he had always known filled his nostrils. The leaves of blood red danced in the wind, trees swaying like long and skinny arms, and the eyes that wept with sap were looking at him when no one else did. Jon had stopped yearning Winterfell years ago and now, suddenly, being just this close to it had made longing sweep over him. To miss Winterfell was to miss the life he wanted to escape from and now part of him wanted to go back and the other still lost.

Jon tried not to dwell on that feeling of being lost and tossed around by life. He didn't want to question why he was brought back, to understand for what purpose did he die for only to return again. He shoved the thoughts aside, knowing that thinking too much about it would only leave him with a headache and overwhelmed with more confusion. But he is a man of reason, and tried to think of so many reasons as to why things happen. He just can't simply leave it up in the air, he cannot run away forever, and he cannot rely on life to busy him into an endless loop of distraction. He has to know and yet he doesn't want to know. What if the truth of it all is hurtful? What if it is dangerous? What if a god, a red one, did exist and had a purpose for him?

The water had gone cold when he finally realized he's been swimming in his head for an hour or so. He can't waste any more time or be late to the feast lest he didn't mind insulting Lord Manderly. He couldn't afford to slight the man, not even by a touch. So he left his bath, dried himself off with the towel that had been left for him, and put on a fresh pair of clothing. Jon never did well in feasts or the company of the nobles, and gathering the Northern Houses only served to awkwardly prove that. As he had for weeks now, Jon had to mentally prepare himself for the exhaustion that would take hold from remembering all the many faces, names, and performing proper manners. He couldn't speak as freely as he could with the Watchmen, every step and word mattered too much now.

Leaving his bedchambers, a guard by his door had began to lead the way to the Merman's Court; House Manderly's Great Hall. It would seem Rickon had been waiting for quite some time, for he impatiently rolled back and forth from the heels of his feet to the tip of his toes. Shaggydog had sat by his feet, eyes looking at every guard as if to threaten them to make a move. While Ghost had followed after Sansa and Aza, having no intention of following Jon's heels. His own wolf had grown unreasonably attached to Aza of late and he wondered why. In turn, Aza had sought the wolf out as well and often invited him to sleep at the end of the bed.

Davos had appeared shortly, dressed in his usual garb just now tinted black. Jon, meanwhile, was fulfilling the guest right and the same servant offered the salt and bread to Davos for him to do the same. "This would be my second time here," said Davos after he chewed and swallowed his salt-dipped bread. "I've been to White Harbor before. Never did I think I'd walk myself into New Castle."

"Did you come here for Stannis or as a smuggler?" asked Jon, curious of the background of such travels. Davos had been to so many places, places Jon was sure he'd never get to see.

"A smuggler," Davos admitted without shame. He held no remorse talking about his past, reminding him of Aza in such a way. She proudly admitted her sellsword life, seeing there was no point in hiding who she was and why she did what she had done. "The city hasn't changed much, but I wonder if the people have."

The guards decided not to wait for the girls and instead opened the doors. Jon turned away from Seaworth, standing behind Rickon who would lead them in. It was only right since he was trueborn and Jon didn't mind being behind his little brother whether in line or his lot in life. A herald rose his staff before hitting the blunt end against the floor. "The Lord Rickon of House Stark," he shouted into the court. "Jon Snow, the bastard of the Lord Eddard of House Stark and Ser Davos of House Seaworth."

Upon the announcement, the three of them and Shaggydog had walked into the court with as much poise as they could summon. Jon eyed the walls, floors, and ceiling of the place. Everything was made of wooden planks, reminding him the interior of a war galley except everything was notched together with clever thinking and littered with decorations of creatures of the sea. Truly were they mermen as his father once said. The Manderlys loved the sea and Jon supposed that in turn, the sea loved them as well.

The court was much more crowded than Jon thought it would be. He had to remind himself that other lords promised to see them here other than Lord Cerwyn. What he didn't expect, however, was the amount of women. There were more women here than men and the men themselves? Well, they were either old or young, hardly in-between. Septons were here, too. Holy sisters in their white and grey garbs.

As they approached the dais, walking on painted crabs, starfish and clams alike, did Jon have a better view of Lord Wyman Manderly. He was a big man, bigger than King Robert, and had golden hair of curls and a golden beard. His cheeks were rosy and his lips thick but made thin as his blue eyes were appraising them. His doublet was made of velvet, colored a soft shade of blue-green with golden thread stitched at the hem, sleeves, and collar. Ermine was his mantle, pinned at one shoulder with a golden trident. A maester stood at his left while Ser Marlon stood at his right. Sitting at a cushioned-stool by Wyman's feet was a woman, plump but not as thick as him. Her hair was a much paler yellow and her face tinted pink.

Standing behind Wyman and the woman on the stool were two young women, curiosity sewn on their faces. The eldest one had brown hair, bound in a long braid that laid upon her shoulder. She was thin and tall, almost if not to equal height as Sansa. The younger one, the one that seemed more closer to age as him, had… green hair? Her hair was a bright, bright green despite her eyebrows being blonde. She held more warmth to her gaze than her sister.

"The Lady Sansa of House Stark," the herald's voice rung throughout the court again. Jon had slowly turned, searching for the sight of his sister. Sansa had walked in with unmatched grace, the shyness that use to rosy her cheeks amidst crowds in the Summer wasn't there anymore. It was a bitter feeling, realizing how much of a woman his little sister was when all he could remember he was her being innocent and young. The softness of her movements and within her voice were long gone, and there was a poise that reminded him heavily of her mother. She commanded attention without so much as a glance or word now. He could tell behind her Tully eyes, bluer than Robb's were, that she was bent on showing no signs of a lady's fragility that she once kept sacred.

"The Lady Shireen of House Baratheon." The girl of five-and-ten matched Sansa in elegance except hers revealed her nervousness. It was likely people were staring at the greyscale that scarred her face since lords and ladies often lack the care for being so blatant. He glanced over at Rickon, who was eyeing the court with narrowed eyes and an obvious scowl. Jon had noticed that in a way, he was quite protective of the Baratheon girl. He was probably counting all those that whispered, damning them in his head because he knew better than to voice his displeasure. "And Aza, betrothed to Jon Snow."

All Jon could do was stare, utterly rapt as he swallowed thickly. Dresses didn't make a woman lovely to him. After all, he had fallen in love with a girl who only wore breeches and leathers, but at this moment… He was left speechless. She was as beautiful as he has ever seen her, as beautiful as any woman has ever been. She stood by the old doors of the court, skirts still fluttering due to her previous movements. Her hair was styled as it was this morning before she ruined it except this time, it didn't frame her face. It showed every curve of it instead. Sansa had pinned down the sides behind her ear so she wouldn't feel bothered by it.

His ears picked up on the whispers, the mutters, and talks of the lords and ladies of the court. All of them were surprised that his intended was a foreigner. All they cared about was the brown of Aza's skin, the golden shade of it that never looked more warm than it did in Merman's Court because the grey overcast couldn't dull it. It would seem that the gods fashioned this moment because to her right, the setting sun serenely awashed the room from the window made her skin aglow.

Aza held her head high as she began to walk again after the announcement of her name, Ghost trotting alongside her. Her saunter was effortless, probably because his sister made sure Aza practiced in heels. The dress she wore wasn't black as Sansa's was, just a deep shade of grey that draped her figure in a way that showed off her curves. There wasn't any skin shown, which was a relief to the jealousy that definitely would've churned in him. Even so, Sansa made sure her dress was practical for the weather because it wouldn't make sense otherwise.

Her eyes scanned the room, meeting every eye that looked at her. When their eyes had finally met, she smiled softly until she closed the distance between them, reaching the dais just shortly after Shireen to stand to his right. Without thought, without a moment to waste, he took her hand and clasped it tight. She squeezed it, leaning towards him as if to say something in his ear but chose not to at the very last second.

"Lady Sansa," Wyman addressed her first. "For a moment, I thought it was your lady mother gracing my court again. You have grown to be just as lovely." Hurt had appeared in his sister's eyes whenever Lady Stark was mentioned, and as always there was a softness to her hurt. It was as if she loved to hear of any spare chance of her mother's life, even if it was spoken by the looks she undoubtedly inherited.

"You helped her sail to see my father in King's Landing," Sansa stated. "I thank you for aiding her, My Lord." Jon hadn't known Lady Stark left Winterfell and gone to King's Landing. What for, he wondered. It was probably likely connected to Bran's fall. That surely would explain why she was on the road and so close to the Eyrie when she captured Lord Tyrion.

"That is no reason to thank me," Wyman dismissed it with a smile. "I only did my duty." He then looked down at Rickon. "A baby no more, are you? It was said the Greyjoy boy burned you and your brother alive."

"It wasn't me and my brother," explained Rickon, "but two farmer boys instead. My brother and I got away before it could've been us."

Wyman hummed in thought, possibly to wonder why Theon had lied about such a thing. "Then where is your brother? Lord Brandon Stark."

"I don't know, My Lord." He felt Aza's hand twitch in his grasp, her face becoming stony upon the mention of Bran. He tried to give her a comforting squeeze and it seemed to have amount to nothing. Her expression hadn't changed and her hand loosened in his hold. "We got separated and I was found by my brother Jon while he was in the Night's Watch."

Now it was him that Wyman looked at, his brow arching. "I heard you had rose to be the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow. No easy feat but not so surprising considering who your father was." Jon bowed his head humbly. "What happened with that? Why did you leave the Watch? Were you not bound by life to the Order?"

"'It shall not end until my death' is apart of the oath I took," Jon decided it was best to tell the truth, no matter how bizarre they would all think of him. "My oath has been fulfilled."

The court quieted to an impossibly still silence due to his reply. From the corner of his eyes, he caught Sansa staring at him with a look akin to fear. Would they all think him mad if he spoke the truth? If he told him that the Red Priestess brought him back from death, would they throw them out? How else could he explain leaving the Order? It just wasn't something you can up and quit. His honor as the blood of a Stark hinged on this.

"Are you truly saying you died and came back?" spoke the woman, craning her neck as she looked up at him. She seemed none too convinced, and there was a hint of something accusatory in her tone. It was almost as if she was gathering her tongue to call him a liar.

"Leona," Wyman said her name in warning to suggest she mind her words or let him further explain.

Now it was Aza who was squeezing his hand. It wasn't out of comfort as he tried to bestow her, but more so out of encouragement. "Aye, My Lady. I died and was brought back by the Red Priestess; Melisandre of Asshai." Now only wasn't the court quiet, it seemed to have become cold. "My brothers committed a mutiny, stabbing me until my death. It was the Priestess that revived me some hours after."

"Ironmen from the Isles, Wildlings from beyond the Wall… and now sorcerers!" wept Leona, who nearly forced herself from up out of her stool. "I have heard of the Red Witch, oh yes. She would turn us against the Seven and bow before a fire demon!"

Davos took a step forward to speak, knowing how to handle all conversations concerning the Red Woman better than he. "Lady Melisandre is a priestess of the Red God, aye. I am of the Seven. Lady Sansa, Aza, and Shireen are also of the Faith as well. Jon Snow is of the Old Gods and there are many things all of us are uncertain of, but what is for certain is that she brought Jon Snow back from death. He has the scars to prove it so."

Must he strip himself in the middle of the court to show them? Discomfort wracked his body from head-to-toe, although he know proof was all that they needed for words would do no justice here. Aza had let go of his hand and looked at him expectantly, her eyes telling him to show them his scars. His hands rose slowly, hesitation still thrumming in his blood until he swallowed his anxiety down and began to undo his surcoat. It was more of a task to not let himself flood a shade of red as he then worked on the chainmail, giving him the access to raise his tunic so that all the scars that littered is abdomen were visible. Jon even raised it high enough so they could see the one scar that was flesh deep over his heart.

The girls behind Wyman and Leona gasped with their eyes wide. The brunette placed her hand over her mouth as if horrified by the sight. The green-haired one merely stared straight, eyes glossed with surprise.

Lord Manderly sagged into his chair, bewildered beyond anything. "So it's true…"

"I know not if her god is true, My Lord." Jon pulled down his tunic and began fixing his clothes, placing the chainmail where it should and straightening as well as buttoning his surcoat. "In death I saw nothing except darkness. I don't know if her god or any god is real, Lord Manderly, but what I do know is that I died and was brought back."

Leona looked too flabbergasted to say word, as if her faith to the Seven had been shaken to the very core. "Lord Cerwyn, I suppose you weren't told of this, were you?" Medger Cerwyn shook his head, his grey hair unmoving. Wyman met Jon's eyes again, questions brewing in them. "You said you saw nothing but you felt something, did you not? Do you feel changed? Do you think anything of it?"

Jon lowered his eyes in thought, trying to summon the best possible explanation. He still did not know what it was truly that he felt all this time, only just a portion of it all. "I finally learned to fear death, My Lord. I never did fear it, I was more than willing to give my life to the Watch before I even swore my vows. It has taken death for me to realize that I have to live my life because that's all there is and there's more to it than I ever thought possible. I've seen what's on the other side and there's nothing… Death showed me what I had been so willing to give up and what I was willing to give up is much too precious to me."

His eyes looked to Aza, who gazed up at him shyly. He could almost kiss her for averting her eyes, having felt unable to keep eye contact. "I see," Wyman's voice had softened as Jon pulled his eyes away from her to look up at Manderly. "I believe you Jon Snow and it isn't just your scars that made me but you look as if you seen death and survived it. But not all of us are that courageous… Before he was slain, Lord Tywin offered White Harbor full pardon for our support of the Young Wolf. He promised that my son would be returned to me once I paid a ransom of three thousand dragons and proved my loyalty beyond a doubt. Roose Bolton, who was named our Warden of the North, had required that I give up my claim to Lord Hornwood's lands and castles but swears my other holdings shall remain untouched. Walder Frey, his good-father, offers one of his daughters to be my wife, and husbands for my son's daughters here behind me. These terms seem generous to me, a good basis for a fair and lasting peace. You would have me spurn them for you?"

"You must ask if they are worth my husband's life?!" Leona eyed Wyman sorrowfully and furiously after her cutting words.

"The Lady Leona is wife to Lord Wyman's son, Ser Wylis, presently a captive to the Lannisters." The Maester had indulged them the information where Wyman did not. Jon did not know they had been beholden to the Lannisters or the Freys. It was difficult to ask them for aid when a life was at risk and it wasn't just any life either, it was Wyman's own son.

"You want us to promise you the safety of Ser Wylis, My Lord?" Sansa questioned, confused as to what it was that he meant them to do. They couldn't promise him that regardless. How could they save him if they posed no real threat? With what army could they save Wylis' life?

"We pray no harm will come to your son or to any man of White Harbor," Davos had said genuinely.

"Lies," spat Lady Leona.

"When Robb Stark took up arms against the bastard Joffrey-called-Baratheon, White Harbor marched with him," Davos did well to remind them. "King Robb has fallen, but his war goes on."

"Robb Stark was my liege lord and my king," Lord Wyman retorted. "And if we all shall fail, how am I to face Ramsay Bolton after? Will I even be alive to do so?"

"We won't fail, Lord Manderly." Steel laced itself into Sansa's voice. "Failure will not be met and it is I who will be your liege lord when the battle is done."

"You?" Wyman's brows raised. "Why not your brother? He has more of a right than you."

"Because she's more fit," Rickon quickly stated. "My sister is capable of being your liege lord more than I of one-and-ten."

The girls behind Wyman smiled at Rickon's defense of Sansa. "And you feel the same, Jon Snow?" Lord Manderly asked.

"Aye," Jon answered with confidence. "I have more than faith to know my sister will be a great liege to the North."

"White Harbor is not strong enough to stand alone, My Lord." Davos remained strong in his defense, more persuasive than Sansa and himself could ever be. Jon supposed it was because he was once Stannis' Hand or because he just lived a long life. "You need us as much as we need you. Together we can defeat our common enemies."

A man, donned in white and purple, had bothered to comment; "Ramsay Snow, they say he's mad and cruel, a monster. Can he be left to be our liege lord?"

"They say?" a voice of a man who had not spoken yet since conversation began came forward. Jon looked over and immediately noticed that he was one of the Freys. What gave such a thing away was the brooch he wore, depicting the Twins proudly. He was a big man, round-shoulders and a big belly that reminded one of a kettle. "His enemies say, aye… but it was the Young Wolf who was the monster. More beast than man, that one, puffed up with pride and bloodlust. And he was faithless, as my lord grandfather learned to his sorrow. I do not fault White Harbor for supporting him. My grandsire made the same grievous mistake. In all the Young Wolf's battles, White Harbor and the Twins fought side by side beneath his banners. Robb Stark betrayed us all. He abandoned the North to the cruel mercies of the ironmen to carve out a fairer kingdom for himself along the Trident. Then he abandoned the riverlords who had risked much and more for him, breaking his marriage pact with my grandfather to wed the first foreign wench who caught his eye. The Young Wolf? He was a vile dog and died like one."

Aza stiffened, visibly, when he called Talisa a foreign wench. If they thought that of Robb's wife then surely they would think the same of her, she must've thought. Lord Glover had told him the same, calling Talisa a foreign whore that seemed to have seduced Robb from doing what was right. Even now, eyes slew themselves to Aza upon the mention of the words 'foreign wench'.

It was obvious Wyman did not take kindly to what was said about Robb. His eyes held all his distaste and yet he seemed too afraid to voice it. "A dog, aye. He brought us only grief and death… A vile dog indeed. Say on."

Jon couldn't bare for them utter another damning word about Robb. He grew tired of docile silence and he would never allow the tongue of a Frey to speak Robb's name so freely again. "Says the man whose grandsire murdered my brother under the false guise of a wedding, insulting the guest right and dishonoring his entire House. Though I forget myself that the Freys never had honor to begin with." Jon kept a sharp gaze with Rhaegar Frey, his smile faltering and a scowl forming. "You could not defeat Robb in battle so you trapped him like cowards. That's all you Freys ever are; well-bred cowards."

He then looked back to Lord Manderly, holding the same fierceness in his gaze. "I know we have little to offer you, My Lord, but you swore yourself to our House. Your _blood_ swore yourselves to House Stark. When House Manderly was made to exile, you came North and which House was it that saved you? That gave you this land you live on?" Wyman was silent as was the rest of the court. Jon had turned to look around. "All of you have swore your oaths to House Stark and Ramsay Snow comes along and puts a leash on you all and none of you fight against it. Ramsay, if he wanted, could have any of you killed should you so much dislike a word he says and yet you remain on your hands and knees. You know of his cruelty and yet you remain silent as if all of us combined means nothing." Sansa smiled approvingly, usually the one who came with the biting words if he chose silence.

"He's right about Ramsay Snow, about the Freys…" a voice followed after him and Jon turned to find who it was that agreed with him. It was the green-haired girl, the granddaughter of Wyman and daughter to Wylis and Leona. "They killed Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn and King Robb," she went on. "He was our king! He was brave and good, and the Freys murdered him."

Wyman grabbed his granddaughter by the arm, pulling her close to him. "Wylla, every time you open your mouth you make me want to send you to the silent sisters."

"I only said—" Before Wylla could continue, her sister interrupted her rather sternly.

"We heard what you said," she said. "A child's foolishness. Speak no ill of our friends of Frey. One of them will be your lord and husband soon." They wanted to silence her. Protect her, maybe. They would have her marry one of the Freys and if she spoke against them, Jon couldn't imagine the cruelty they would hand her should they know of it and they will know of it. He was sure Rhaegar Frey and all the other ones here would be sure their House knows of it.

"No!" shouted Wylla, refusing to be spoken down to. Refusing to be silenced. "I won't ever. I won't _ever_. They killed _the king_!"

"You will!" Manderly told her fiercely. "When the appointed day arrives, you will speak your wedding vows, else you would join the silent sisters and never speak again."

She was the only one who spoke in Robb's defense. The only one that cared about old promises. That cared that Robb died at the hands of cruelty and here Jon was, unable to help her while she shouted her loyalty to all of them here. When he saw the fear, the heartbroken look on her face, he could not think of a single thing to say or do in her defense. "Grandfather, please…" she begged.

"Hush, child." Her mother was quick to reprimand her and Jon was unsure if it was because she agreed with Wyman or to protect her. It was difficult to decipher. "You heard your lord grandfather. Hush! You know nothing."

The words stunted him, making him think of a girl kissed by fire long since gone. Ygritte was someone had hadn't thought about in years but that phrase was enough to kickstart her back into his memories. She had been right, Jon sorely realized. He knew nothing.

"I know about the promise!" Wylla fought again. "Maester Theomore, tell them! A thousand years before the Conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf's Den before the Old Gods and the new. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. The city is built upon the land they gave us. In return we swore that we should always be their men. Stark men!"

The Maester began to play with the chain about his neck, reminding him of Aemon and Luwin who used to do the same. "Solemn oaths were sworn to the Stark of Winterfell, aye, but Winterfell has fallen—"

"Winterfell has not fallen," Sansa sharply interjected. "Winterfell was taken and we will have it back and we will take it back with or without your aid should you deny us. I will not beg, Lord Manderly. I have done plenty of begging and I will beg no more. You either support us or you don't, it is of your choice. No one can make it for you, not even I. What I will say is that the North remembers."

His sister's knuckles were pale from just how tightly she gripped her skirts. Sansa spun and left, Shireen following behind her silently. Rickon followed suit with Shaggydog and Davos while Jon remained with Aza at his side. "Thank you for listening to us, Lord Manderly." Aza dipped her head as she spoke, her smile saccharine. It was almost hard to stomach because that's how falsely sweet it was. "We'll be going to our rooms for the night. I find we are of little appetite." Tugging his hand, Jon listlessly followed. She left Wyman no time to utter another word, hastily getting them out of the court or else she feared another argument would ensue. Jon wouldn't know what he would say or do next, that's just how infuriated he was.

 **AZA**

They left White Harbor the following day, which wasn't much of a surprise. Jon and Sansa both reached their limits and Rhaegar Frey along with Lord Wyman had pushed them over the edge they were already teetering on. The only good to come out of everything was Lord Cerwyn agreeing to join them and solidifying his loyalty to the Starks as they prepared for departure. He spoke highly of Jon's brotherly love and Sansa's courage to not be spoken down to like a true she-wolf. He said they were true Starks and they reminded him of why he has kept the faith to their House. It lifted their spirits some, but Aza knew better than to think that nothing would've been better than to have Manderly's forces among them.

Now that there were no more lords and ladies to see, they returned back to the Stark army camp. It was not too far from Winterfell, already full of as many men as they could get. Among the many familiar faces were new ones, soldiers from Houses they visited and many that arrived after corresponding through ravens. It was starting to look like a real army, though not as massive as Aza heard in stories or when the Wildlings were a 100,000 strong and stretched the horizon. She wished they were many a-man as that; she imagined Ramsay would outright surrender if he was that outmatched.

Speaking of the Snow turned Bolton, Aza would be given the chance to meet him or more like see him before her own eyes. He had been called many names: monster, raper, killer, Bolton bastard, and so on. Aza was curious as to how he looked, how he talked, and if he was a short man or a tall man. Was he ugly or handsome? It was strange to meet a man so vile for the first time; to attach a face to a name.

"He best be taking a shit since he has us waitin' this long," Tormund grumbled as they sat horseback, all of them looking rather anxious or impatient. Jon more than anything kept glancing over at Sansa, who looked as if she was trying to keep herself under control. How difficult it must be to confront the man who brutalized her on a daily basis. It made her all the more braver for finding the strength to see him when she could've easily stayed at camp, avoiding him altogether. Nobody would've blamed her if she had chosen to do so.

Soon figures started to appear from afar, and Aza suspected it was Ramsay and his allies. Apparently Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark were his biggest supporters. It hadn't surprised her much to see them with him, the rest that came along just looked to be common Bolton soldiers. "You don't have to be here," Jon gently said to Sansa, giving her fair warning to turn back around and go back to camp.

"Yes," Sansa said with nothing other than certainty, "I do."

Aza canted her head as Ramsay smirked. His eyes seemed delighted to gaze upon Sansa, who Aza hoped he didn't seek to intimidate. All hope dashed when he opened his mouth, proving true that his intentions were to get under the girl's skin. "My beloved wife," said Ramsay. "I've missed you terribly." Aza frowned at the way he relished Sansa's brows furrowing. He was that kind of man? The kind that liked to play vicious mind games? That liked to see people cower as they held power? He was an invoker of fear in the jester, manic kind of way.

"Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely," he then told Jon. "Now, dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my House. Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell. Why lead these poor souls into slaughter? There's no need for a battle." Aza's mouth hung open in shock. Was he really this bold? This cocksure that he would win? Did his battle with Stannis inflate this ego that must've already been massive to begin with? "Get off your horse and kneel. I'm a man of mercy."

Her scoff couldn't be kept. Her eyes looked around as if to see if she was truly seeing—or rather hearing—any of this. "You're right," Jon replied. "There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us. Let's end this the Old Way. You against me."

Setting her jaw, her eyes slew to Jon rather venomously. She knew next to nothing of what kind of fighter Ramsay was, but if he had managed to rise himself to this position all by himself then surely he wasn't weak. Ramsay, who undoubtedly knew Jon was underestimating him, simply chuckled. "I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men. You have, what, half that? Not even?"

"Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?" Jon's smirk was enough to rustle some of Ramsay's confidence.

"He's good," he jested, glancing back at the men that flanked him. "Very good."

"Are you afraid, Ramsay?" asked Aza.

His cold eyes of blue then slew to her for the first time with interest. She had been just a passing glance when he seized up all who came with Jon and Sansa. Now she was of shape. Now she was worth his attention. "I am your lord, foreigner. Why should I be afraid?"

"Although our numbers are small, you're dealing with a bunch who had fought at much greater odds. You know of the Wildlings, and you know they weren't given rights to pass until long after they were made to surrender. You must also know Castle Black had so few men when we battled them. 6,000 men doesn't frighten us when we were against a 100,000. I'm not saying we killed that many, but we have killed _many_. You and your army are but a meager flea compared to that, yeah?"

His smirk faltered, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. Violent. It was enough to cause a chill to travel down her spine. The look he gave her was certainly befitting of a monster. "You must be that girl, the Summer Islander, that dressed herself a man and swore the oath. I've heard plenty about you…" Ramsay turned to look at Jon. "I've heard of women from the Isles. They live and breathe beneath a man if you pay them right. Was she your whore without cost, bastard? I don't imagine you having any coins to spare her. Would you mind if I pay for her in your place? I've never taken an Island woman before. I imagine she'd be more fun in my bed than your sister was."

Jon's hands balled up, the look that bubbled to the surface of his cold expression was not anger. It was _rage_. And not even for one second did he try to choke it down. Before he could lose his temper, Aza defended herself. She did not need him coming to her defense and what Ramsay wanted was to provoke Jon. There was no way in Seven hells that she would allow him such satisfaction. "You ought to think more, Lord Snow." He flinched visibly under the name she called him. Her lips curved into a smirk as his eyes narrowed. "What? You're a bastard, are you not? Once a bastard, always a bastard. But to answer you, if you think I live and breathe beneath a man then you are sorely mistaken. You should ask that of the many men I've killed if they enjoy me living and breathing."

"You—"

Sansa didn't give him the chance to say another word. "You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well."

Sparing not another glance, Sansa maneuvered her horse to turn and rode away. Ramsay, however, still had words left to say and tried to regain that unscrupulous demeanor of his. "Forgive me for what I said about your sister. She's a fine woman, that one. I look forward to having her back in my bed despite my wandering eyes." He looked over Tormund, Davos, and a few other of their soldiers. "And you're all fine-looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven't fed them for seven days, they're ravenous. I wonder which parts they'll try first. Your eyes? Your balls? We'll find out soon enough. In the morning, then, bastard."

And with that, Ramsay and the men he brought with him had turned to ride back towards Winterfell. Aza watched him until they rode over and down the hill, becoming smaller and smaller until they were eventually out of her line of sight. Meeting Ramsay was different than hearing about from others or reading his own words. He was much more troublesome than any of them probably expected. Now they had to figure out what he was like in battle…

"I thought he would never stop talking," Lyanna said amidst the odd quiet that settled after Ramsay's leave. "He talks far too much."

Aza chuckled and nodded in agree. "Men like that talk big because they're really small. He's afraid."

"What makes you so certain of that?" asked Rickon. "He didn't seem afraid to me. He seemed so sure of winning more than anything."

"If he held no fear, he would've accepted Jon's offer to fight one-on-one. He also wouldn't have tried to persuade us not to fight him. If winning would come so easy, he wouldn't have said any of that." At least, that was how it seemed to her. Ramsay seemed like a cunning coward in her eyes. "I could be wrong… but a man so sure of victory wouldn't have acted as he did."

Unless this was all a ploy, that is. Perhaps Ramsay wanted her to think that or maybe she was putting too much thought into it. Overthinking wasn't going to help her or anyone, so it was best to be done with the thought.

Clicking to Faust, Aza rode with Tormund, Davos, Lyanna, Rickon, and Jon back to camp. All of them seemed to have felt better once the assortment of rows upon rows of tents had grown larger as they approached. Aza felt only just a little relieved to be back at camp because she had been preparing to observe the soldiers that were green to battle. For some, this would be their first fight and they needed to be taught what to be prepared for before they threw themselves against enemy soldiers.

Slipping off her horse, one of the Stark soldiers had quickly came to retrieve him. She spoke her thanks and gave Faust one last stroke of her hand against his nose. He playfully pushed at her palm, happy about the affection as well as annoyed that he was taken away. She smiled as she watched him go with only little reluctance.

"We'll be holding a conference," Jon walked up from behind her. Had it not been the grass that crunched under his feet, he might've finally caught her off guard for once.

"So?" she retorted, brow arched as she turned to face him. "You could do that without me."

Confused, Jon bowed his brows. "You should be there. This will be our battle plan."

And since when had she ever partaken in battle plans? Not once had she ever gave her input on things of that nature. She just wasn't good at it. "I've never been really good at, well, you know…" Aza waved her hand in a vague gesture, trying to mentally look for the word that settled at the tip of her tongue. "Strategy, yeah. Strategy." She quickly nodded her head, remembering that was the exact word. "You do all the planning and tell me what to do, yeah?"

He seemed disappointed, not by her lack of the skill but because she wasn't willing to learn. Not everyone had the mind for that, so she wasn't sure why he thought she should force herself at it. "I'll be instructing these green men of yours. I'm good at that. Leave them in my hands so that we'll have less men dying tomorrow."

"You're smart, Aza." Her face heated at the compliment. "I'd like to know your input. Not only that, we're in this together… Your counsel means much to me."

Aza stubbornly shook her head. Her heart may have melted at his words, but she could not be persuaded. "You have Davos and Tormund; they're men built for things like that and you're smarter than me. You had a Maester and a Master-At-Arms, yeah? You don't need me for somethin' like that."

His mouth twisted into a frown and she could tell he was just barely accepting to settle. Were they really going to get themselves into an argument over this? Aza hoped not. There were too many important things to take care of than to argue about her doing something she didn't wish to. "Don't be too hard on them. You know how you can get."

With a smirk, Aza mischievously looked away in false innocence. "I wasn't too hard on Rickon, now was I?" Jon's blank look was enough to cause her to laugh. "Alright, so I favored him, so?"

"If he weren't my brother, he would've been bloody and broken under your teachings." It was the only way to learn, wasn't it? Hadrian had never been so light on her. When she thought about on her years of learning the sword, the sound she remembered the most were the sound of her bones breaking. That's how hard she mercilessly he trained. She couldn't imagine that someone could be trained without such intensity until she met Jon.

"I won't be too hard on them, I promise." Aza would try, at least for him. She couldn't promise that she wouldn't go overboard despite that they couldn't afford them too battered when they would have to fight for their lives in the morning. It would be in her best interest to do light training, light instructions, but this was Aza. She hardly did things lightly.

With nothing else to say, Jon softly kissed the crown of her head and left her alone to make his way towards the conference tent. Aza watched him for a few minutes until the flaps of the tent closed and his person was just a shadow due to the brightness of the candlelights inside. She kept her gaze on his shadowy figure for a moment before she heard footsteps approach.

"The men are saying you're gathering them in the rings, is it true?" asked Lyanna, sounding utterly curious. Aza could quickly recall the way the girl's eyes lit up as she kept sending her best men to fight her back on Bear Island. The Islander defeated each and every one of them, coming out the victor with little wounds in the process. It was easy to win against a spear fight because a spear left so many openings and was only good for long distance against a sword that could make perform long and close.

Aza looked down at the lady-child, a smile on her face. "You want to watch, Lady Lyanna?"

"Of course." Lyanna returned her smile. "Will Lord Rickon partake in it?"

"I'm not sure." Lyanna and Rickon barely spoke to one another. Lyanna, from what she could tell, had trouble speaking to her peers. She had been surrounded by people much older than her for quite some time. That caused her to mature much more faster than she naturally should have. Rickon, while having grown, still held a boyish childishness about him. He lacked the patience to understand her as well as the care to mind how he spoke. He had gotten better with Shireen and that's only because they had been tied together as children going through this mess of a life together. Surely Rickon would open up to Lyanna, at least one of these days. He needed more friends his age, especially after what happened with Olly.

"I was curious as to how he fights since he was under your tutelage." Was she truly curious of that or did she want to admire Rickon as a warrior herself? Aza caught the slight disappointment on her face but decided not to point it out on the cuff. "I saw him carry two swords. Is he a dual-wielder?"

Her lips twitched, the feeling to tease Lyanna trying to break itself through. "Aye, he's a dual-wielder, My Lady." The girl nodded, not catching the way Aza was so tempted to ask about the source of her curiosity. It might be innocent, no actual admiration involved, but it was hard to discern with the way she casually mentioned him whenever she had the chance. "Though I don't know if he'll join the ring. He tends to like to watch as well."

Or it was because she refused to allow anyone aside from her, Jon, and Rowan to train him. If the boy was hurt by some other man's hand, Aza doubted she'd be able to hold herself back. She did her best not to baby him, it was just that some overwhelming part of her wanted to keep Rickon Stark close and unharmed. The age she met him might've played a role in that and that was why it was difficult for to accept that he's much too old for her to be feeling and acting in such a way.

"C'mon, let me put these boys to the test. If they'll be fighting for Jon, they best not be too green." Lyanna fell in step with her as they walked with a march through the camp. Donned in her breeches and jerkin, her hair tied in a horsetail, she noticed the some of the soldiers had not only bowed their heads at Lyanna but at her as well. It was a little unsettling, mostly because she wasn't sure why she demanded that kind of respect from them. She was not yet Jon's wife and even so, he was a bastard and so was she. Still, Aza wouldn't correct them. How could she? She hardly knew what to say to combat their actions.

The training area was surrounded by rowdy men, already drunk and entertained by those already in the ring. Aza used her arm to separate herself through, allowing Lyanna to move ahead of her due to the fact that it was easier for her to get lost in such a crowd. When they noticed they were being made to move, the soldiers easily stepped aside upon the sight of them until the two of them reached the wooden fence that made up the ring. Lyanna, being small, had climbed and leaned onto it so that she could see better while Aza leaned against it to her right.

"They're a mess," commented Lyanna, her mouth twisted with displeasure. Her eyes moved quickly, picking up all the stances and actions the soldiers had made. Although not a fighter herself, she had least known a few things. "Isn't he supposed to raise his shield higher? How has he not been kicked in the face yet?"

The way the young man hoisted his shield, nearly using both arms to keep him protected was a foolish sight. Aza shook her head, disappointed yet unsurprised. He was green and it wasn't his fault. He would learn, though. Aza would make sure. "You're right," she answered Lyanna's question. A sigh soon left her, her shoulders drooping upon knowing that her workload had undoubtedly doubled and it was only still morning.

 **JON**

His focus was trying to diminish. He felt the kind of tired that required a good night's sleep and also something more, something he can't really describe. Peace? Yes, a peace of mind was what he needed. His bones felt heavy as lead and his emotions were like a weight wearing him down. But no matter how tired he felt, his mind was full of anxiety. It needed to move. It needed to think. It needed to burn all the anxiety that swelled within it out. If he kept at it, however, he knew he would surely become exhausted.

"We should all get some sleep," advised Davos.

They had been in the conference tent for hours and Jon was more than sure that night was already upon them. He didn't need to see it, he can feel the pull of it just from inside this tent. His nod was slow, showing he agreed that getting rest would be the best thing to do. After all, tomorrow needed him more than this night did.

"Rest, Jon Snow." Tormund's voice broke him from his sleepy trance, making his tired eyes look from up the map on the table and into the blue eyes of the Wildling. "We need you sharp tomorrow."

Tormund, Davos, and a few other lords and soldiers left. The tent was just about empty save for him and Sansa. He was fine with looking like a man with the world on his shoulders in front of her. He trudged his feet, taking a seat at the head of the table to rest his legs after standing for so many hours.

"So you've met the enemy," said Sansa, "drawn up your battle plans."

It was clear that she was not pleased. In fact, Jon could tell she had been annoyed for the past couple of hours and it had just build and build until now when she had the ripe opportunity to speak of her grievances alone with him. "Aye, for what they're worth…" Jon replied, his voice hinting his drowsiness.

"You've known him for the space of a single conversation," she pointed out. "You and your trusted advisors, and you sit around and make your plans on how to defeat a man you don't know. I lived with him. I know the way his mind works. I know how he likes to hurt people. Did it ever once occur to you that I might have some insight?"

A burst of guilt blossomed in his chest. "You're right." She was, he could admit that. Jon never found fault in acknowledging that he was wrong or overlooked something. Well, at least when someone presented it as plainly unlike a certain Islander that would've barked at him instead.

"You think he's going to fall into your trap. He won't. He's the one who lays traps." Jon couldn't discern if she was actually thinking of strategy or was paranoid. Did she think they would lose? Did she think he would so easily lead them to a slaughter?

"He's overconfident," Jon dismissed it.

"He plays with people," his sister stressed. "He's far better at it than you. He's been doing it all his life."

Annoyed, offended, and above of all irritated, Jon stood to his feet quickly. "Aye, and what have I been doing all my life?" Jon questioned, his voice coming out somewhat harsher and sarcastic than he intended. "Playing with broomsticks? I fought beyond the Wall against worse than Ramsay Bolton. I've defended the Wall from worse than Ramsay Bolton."

Sansa shook her head. "You don't _know_ him," her voice softened some as the words left her.

"All right, tell me." If Sansa knew so much than he would like to hear how she would handle this. She was more capable than him to hear her tell it. If she knew so much then he would hear her out. Perhaps he was completely in the wrong for not seeking her input earlier. "What should we do? What should I do differently?"

"I don't know!" she shouted, eyes wide in wild fear and aggravation. "I don't know anything about battles! Just don't do what he wants you to do."

Briefly, Jon closed his eyes as his sarcasm spoke for itself again; "Aye, that's good advice." He was almost eager to pinch the bridge of his nose in efforts to calm himself. This was getting them nowhere and quite frankly, he didn't have it in him to argue with her. He didn't want to argue with Sansa at all.

Her frown became deeper, much more present on her face. "You think that's obvious?"

"Well, it is obvious." He thought to smile, to calm the hostility that was building between them. It hadn't work, which he should've expected.

"If you had asked for my advice earlier, I would have told you not to attack Winterfell until we have a larger force or is that obvious, too?"

"When will we have a larger force?!" His voice rose. He couldn't understand what she was thinking or what she was trying to tell him. As far as he was concerned, she seemed to think he was incapable of doing anything right at this point. She had so much to say and yet nothing to show. They promised to meet Ramsay in battle tomorrow, so what was he to do? Wait for this larger force she thought was going to magically appear? Maybe a House would change their mind and join them at this very last minute? "We've pleaded with every House that'll have us! The Blackfish can't help us! We're lucky to have this many men!"

"It's not enough!" she shouted.

"No, it's not enough! It's what we have! Battles have been won against greater odds."

Sansa soon calmed, resorting back to that cold and stoic expression he knew she iced into when it came to Ramsay. "If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?" The tone of her voice, her words, and the look she gave him cut him. It cut him deeper than any of the stabbings he suffered in Castle Black's courtyard.

"I won't ever let him touch you again," Jon declared, voice low with sincerity and regret. "I'll protect you, I promise." A promise he would keep. A promise he knew he could fulfill and would die doing so. He wouldn't let Ramsay touch his sister again. Never.

"No one can protect me," Sansa replied with dispirit. "No one can protect anyone."

With a sharp turn, Sansa had left the tent with a presence that could match the coldness of the Northern wind. Jon felt inept; a failure as both a commander, but more so as a brother. His own sister didn't believe in him. Could not even accept his promise. Leaning against the table, he looked down at the map before huffing out a dejected sigh.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose tightly before standing upright. Another person had been absent from this meeting aside from Aza, and Jon wasn't sure if Melisandre could offer better advice. It would not hurt to seek her out. At this point, advice from anyone was better than no advice at all. And there was an off chance that she had seen a vision, some sort of insight that could help him. He had been skeptical of her visions, of her powers, of everything about her. But after all that has happened… No, he would not warped, consumed in these things, like Stannis. He wouldn't allowed himself get wrapped up into that. He would just ask her what she thought and leave it at that.

Meeting with Melisandre gained him nothing. No sage advice, nothing that could alleviate him or motivate him. The woman seemed just as uncertain as he was. That should've been a good thing, that she did not know of his fate as she could recall many times before. The mystery of life had been granted to him again, rousing his fear and giving him a sense to fight harder against the tide that seemed massive to him now. It still left him confused, about his feelings about the gods and this life that had been given back to him, but he would rather ponder those things than Ramsay Bolton possibly defeating him tomorrow.

His feet led him back to his tent, not knowing if Aza was there already or not. When he lifted his eyes from the ground to look around, he thought it to be empty until he saw her sitting up in the bed with Ghost on his back. Her hands playfully rubbed his stomach, her smile bright and cheery. How she found a moment to feel any sort of happiness right now seemed to brighten his mood. "You look like shit," Aza taunted him once she laid her eyes on him.

"I feel like shit," he shot back as he began to undo his cloak and then surcoat. Nothing would feel better than getting into bed, but he doubted sleep would take him right away. Whenever he was so dead tired like this, his back would hit the bed and his thoughts would suddenly race. "You're spoiling him by letting him sleep on the bed. He's a direwolf, not a dog, Aza."

Ghost hummed a growl. It was lazy, almost as if he was tired himself. "Ghost and I don't agree," Aza leaned close to Ghost as he understood she was whispering to him. "He's just being pissy 'cause he's in a shitty mood, yeah?" The wolf yipped as if he agreed with her, making Jon roll his eyes but unable to suppress the smile that slipped itself through. "That's what happens when you use your head all those hours. You get in a shitty mood."

"You had better luck than me?" he inquired. "How were the soldiers?" It was only until he managed to unbuckle his chainmail that he caught the look of vexation that washed over the smile she wore minutes ago. "That bad, huh?"

"They were so wet behind the ears, I'm surprised they haven't drowned yet." He would've worried. He should worry but he was too tired to. Something told him, however, that Aza remedied most of the issues she saw in them. She wouldn't leave them for the night if she thought that she didn't fix anything.

Dressed only in loose trousers and a thin tunic, Jon nearly flopped as he climbed into the bed. A sigh left him once his head laid against the pillow, moving his arm to drape it over his eyes. Falling to sleep right away wasn't going to happen, he realized. At least not in the first try.

Forcing his arm away, he opened one eye to glance over at Aza, who seemed content with playing with Ghost still. It seemed more like a distraction than genuine play. "You're worried," he decided to speak about it. It was on both their minds and it was better to talk than to ignore it. To pretend as if the both of them held no fear of what the outcome could be.

"I'm not," Aza mumbled. "I'm not worried about tomorrow and neither should you." Eyes of brown focused on him, meeting his gaze steadily to show she meant what she said. He almost believed her. Almost. "We're going to win. We're going to kill Ramsay and then I'll finally get to be in this Winterfell I heard so much about, yeah?" The corners of his lips twitched as Aza leaned over and rested her forehead against his. A hand drifted up to his face, a thumb sliding its calloused touch against his jaw as she breathed the air with him. Her lips close yet not close enough, if he moved just an inch he could kiss her but she still had more to say. "And when all is calm, you and I are gonna swear vows before the Old Gods and be bound together as husband and wife."

He never thought she would want to marry before the weirwood, swearing words of an eternal union of the Old Gods. She was of the Seven and while the sept in Winterfell was small, he still thought she would want to marry under the faith she believed in. "You want to marry before my gods? What about yours?" he asked, curiosity overriding the need to kiss her.

"In the Isles, a woman marries under her husband's gods. It's tradition." It was rare when Aza brought up the culture of her home. The memories of her mother kept her from speaking much of it except on rare occasions, and to hear her speak of it so freely now was warming. "In Westeros, I see you can swear words of the Faith before the Old, but I don't want to do that."

"Is there any other traditions of the Isles you want in our wedding?" She smiled, brightly, her head nodding eagerly. Jon chuckled at her excitement, mostly because it was precious in its purity and didn't come with a cost of making fun of him for once.

"I want you to untie my knots." Jon immediately furrowed his brows in absolute confusion. He blinked once, twice, and then thrice as he soon gave up trying to understand she just said.

"What in the Seven hells are knots?" Aza giggled at his reply despite how serious he truly was. "No, but really, knots? Do I… Do I have to tie you up?"

"No!" Aza lightly hit his chest, her nose wrinkling. "Marriage isn't so permanent in the Isles. The goddess of love tells our people that love is not always forever and that love dies just as everything else does. And so that we don't waste away in unhappiness, we are given rope-knots for our weddings. It's customary, even if you don't believe in the Isles gods."

"The rope is bound around the waist of the bride as she is dancing to the god of happiness' drum. She can choose any god to dance a hymn to, most women just choose happiness. As she dances, the groom must undo as many knots as he can before the music ends. The knots count as years; if he unties one knot, their marriage lasts for a year. If he unties them all then they are married until… Well, for all eternity, yeah."

"What if the groom isn't able to untie any? How long does the marriage last then?" That was a fear of his now. What if he stumbled? What if his hands got so sweaty that he couldn't get the knots untied? Did that mean they weren't meant to marry? Did that mean Aza was not meant to be his?

Aza shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I never heard of that happening before. A man usually gets one knot untied at the very least."

That additional input did not cease his fears at all. In fact, he could feel his heartbeat quickening in his chest. The wedding was far from happening and yet he was utterly nervous right now. "What are you getting so worked up for? Are you afraid of some knots, Jon Snow?" Aza found humor in this and he failed to understand why. Did she not care? Did she not worry that he could fail and they are married for such a limited time or never?

"What if I can't untie any? That means you can't marry me. That you weren't meant to marry me. Why should I not be afraid?" It wasn't that he necessarily believed that gods were forbidding their marriage if that were to happen. It was the sense to love someone and being told by a lack of action or by gods or by whatever that you weren't meant to have them that wounds a person.

"We can marry more than once. Sometimes people still love each other after the year is done and so they marry again. It's not end all be all, Jon." If it meant that he had to marry her every year until either one of their deaths, he would do it. Jon solemnly swore to himself that he would marry her and never let her go.

He sat himself up, moving them so that she was on her back and he hovered over her. Aza shifted, her legs moving to accommodate his hips between her thick thighs. He caged both sides of her face with his hands before firmly planting his lips against her own. Jon pulled back before she could respond, her eyes half-lidded and a glare glittering in their depths from the sudden broken contact. "I'll untie all the knots. You're going to be stuck with me until the world is gone." A sweet laugh spilled from her mouth and he swallowed it with another press of their lips.

The sound of her sigh, the feel of her mouth opening against his and her fingers ghosting lightly up the top of his spine just to bury themselves into his curls… All of it made the thoughts and worries of tomorrow fog until he couldn't make sense of them anymore. It took the fears out of him so that the melding of flesh and bone was the only thing in the forefront of his mind.

Tormund said they needed him sharp tomorrow and Jon promises he will be. Sharper than the edge of Longclaw, sharper than Ghost's canines that easily sinks into flesh. Sharper than the daggers that stabbed him, sharper than Ice that his father once wielded, and sharper than the blues of a White Walker's eye. He will be sharp enough to even cut through the gods themselves tomorrow, but tonight he planned to be a man. A man that would rather lose himself in his woman with thoughts of a future that was brighter than the Summer that left them years ago.

Winter was coming but he would still know warmth.

 **AZA**

She couldn't think straight this morning. Everything hinged on what happened today and once it began, well… It could never be undone. The Stranger had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, resting a heaviness upon her to let her know that he was here and that he could haul her off into death anytime he desired. Aza welcomed him, openly and honestly. She welcomed that weight with choice. Welcomed the thought that she could very much die in a matter of hours in numerous different ways. Fearing death was of no real use to her yet neither was accepting it. All she had to do was acknowledge that he was here. He was everywhere. She could not ignore him and she could not stop him. Death moved on his own accord and so would she, she will give death a reason to not see her as fragile ever again.

She had turned to look back at Jon, who gallantly rode up towards the front lines. Her lover looked otherworldly, regal, in a strange sense that he was born to command armies. Her eyes were becoming moist and she wasn't sure if it was out of love, admiration or perhaps fear. She supposed she did fear of how much battle suited Jon Snow. They were both battle-made, born during a time of a rebellion and spent most of their youth fighting battles that some men have never even thought to face. That should've made her feel more at ease, knowing they were about to immerse themselves in their element. It hadn't, however, not for a single second. It only made her feel worse.

He came to a halt where she stood next to Tormund with Wun Wun's giant form looming over them. All of them either stood or remained horseback opposed to where the Boltons were. They lined up in the same manner across what was deemed their battlefield. Aza made note of the pyres of the sigil of House Bolton and how they burned, representing the flayed man completely. It was more than obvious that it was presented to incite intimidation than it was to represent House Bolton because that's the kind of man Ramsay was. Everything he did was to stir fear and he had unknowingly stirred hers.

Would they use those pyres to burn? She knew she couldn't handle the very sight of men being set afire whilst alive. Her stomach shifted uneasily at the thought of becoming a mess of a person in the middle of the field where she was needed the most. She couldn't afford that right now. She had to fight through that trauma that burns at the back of her head. Men might burn but she had to still fight even if they do.

"We can still do this the Old Way, Ramsay!" Jon's voice boomed across the field as Ramsay kept his sardonic grin. "It's not too late."

"If we did it your way, bastard," Ramsay said back, "you would win. We're not doing it _your_ way."

In one swift movement, Jon unsheathed Longclaw and raised his sword up towards the sky. Aza unsheathed Flyssa, raising her sword in sync with the rest of the soldiers. The sounds of swords being drawn varied because all the sheaths weren't made the same; wooden, leather, and metal singing a different chorus as all their swords were freed. Every sword in the Stark-Wildling army was raised in the air, mimicking the man that would lead them.

Her palms were beginning to slick with sweat while a cold bead was going down her neck. Her pulse was pounding in the cage of her chest and even in her temples. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, and her adrenaline? It could not be tamed. It felt like it was wrangling to free itself from an iron cage.

There was no turning back. There was no second chances. Once this began, it had to be met with an end.

"Prepare to charge!" Jon ordered and while many of them set themselves to stances to either began a headlong gallop or to sprint while the Bolton bowmen began nock their arrows. "Shield ups!" The shield she held was of the Stark sigil, secured tightly on her right arm. All of the infantry began to huddle close, making a large shield wall. "Charge!"

Aza ran forward along with the rest of them, shields remaining up to protect themselves from the volley of arrows. Jon was still on horseback, galloping straight towards the enemy army with little to no protection. As if he had no care for the arrows that came down like rain. "Calvary!" Davos called for them, to follow after Jon who went charging alone. "Go! Go! Follow your commander!"

"Run and fight!" she heard Tormund shout. The ground trembled by the vibrations of Wun Wun's roar as all of them charged across the field towards the Boltons. She flinched once, twice, as her shield was being continuously pelted by arrows. Some even pierced through it, but she had luckily remained unharmed. Feeling safe, Aza lowered her shield and cocked back her sword arm, preparing herself for the first man she could strike.

But her sword arm went slack as Jon's horse had fell, arrows being the cause. So many had pierced the horse, knocking him off and having tumbled to the ground. She immediately didn't care for the call for the charge of Ramsay's calvary. She didn't care about the arrows flew overhead. All her body could respond to was Jon on the ground and how she needed to protect him.

It had been Tormund that wrapped his arm around her waist, using her shield to save them both from the arrows that came their way. "Snow will be fine!" His words were hardly comforting. She could only know he was fine if she had seen it for herself and she could see nothing with this shield in the way. Aza twisted in his hold that felt like an ironband. When the volley was at its end, he lowered the shield and allowed her to see Jon on his feet, his sword belt gone, and in a stance as he bravely stood before the incoming Bolton charge.

Once Tormund's hold on her loosened, she ran with hope to outrun the horses. She had been too slow, naturally, since who could outrun a horse? But it was their own cavalry that had sped past her and both Bolton and Stark cavalryman collided like nothing she had ever seen before. Bodies, weapons, swords, shields and everything else had flew everywhere. Aza was in the middle of the fray, trying to understand what was happening. She had never seen men smashed together like that, nevermind what came of the horses from that kind of collision. It was the most gruesome thing she had ever seen and ever heard.

Her ear twitched upon the sound of heavy boots coming directly towards her. Incoming was a forehand swing to which Aza met with a parry and a heavy strike of her sword. He hadn't stopped spinning on his heels, attempting to circle his blade to gain enough momentum to hit her with a backhand strike, enforcing great power behind it. His sword hissed through the air, only to be thwarted by Aza's shield that she used to block his blow. The clang was loud enough to pound in her ears, bearing a short distraction so that he did not catch the glint of Flyssa as she darted it forward. Within an instant, she impaled the man right through the face, his nose serving as the dead center that the sharp blade easily slid into. Lifting her foot, she pressed it against the soldier's chest to pull her bloody Flyssa from out of his head with minimal struggle.

The next soldier came charging when he thought her distracted, she had proved him wrong with a sweep of her shield to his chest. A sickening crunch of bone and metal resounded in the air, and she doesn't leave it up to chance that the shield did enough damage. So she followed through with an attack, swinging her body the other way, her sword angling across an unprotected flank.

The blood had a heat to it as it sprayed. She felt it in the air before it touched her skin, splashing across her face and the exposed skin of her neck. It had been so long since she felt herself in this kind of battle and it felt entirely different than when they fought the Wildlings at the Wall. She didn't want to kill the Wildlings, she gave many of them mercy, but she damn well wanted to kill the Boltons. Within the storm of her bloodlust, Aza had to remind herself to take deep intakes of breathing—through her nose, not her bloody mouth—before she swept with her shield again. Just barely did she dodge the attack that she had felt whistling through the air behind her.

Cavalrymen and infantry of the Boltons alike were making it difficult for her to get a damn break. But more importantly, they made it difficult for her to find Jon and make sure he was well protected. It was already worrisome enough that she had left Rickon alone with the archers. That position was safer than him being out here in this mess; she was more than glad she and Jon agreed on it. She would've been far too distracted with fear for him in the middle of this.

Aza moved again, not lingering in that same spot so that she could cut through many of the surrounding Boltons. Her eyes searched in a frenzy for some sign of Jon or at least Tormund, who surely wouldn't let Jon be unprotected either. This battle couldn't be won without him, that was for certain. Aza, however, couldn't live without him, battle be damned. If he were dead—No, she wouldn't do it. She tried to convince Jon that the worst wouldn't happen and she couldn't stand here and be a hypocrite.

Weaving in and out between the throng, she decided she would be stronger, faster, and more reckless than normal. Aza couldn't take a chance on being careful, of thinking and instead of acting. If let alone with her thoughts, she would think of unnecessary things. So her slashes became wider in arcs, thrusts became deeper in flesh. Her sight felt twice as sharp as she caught sight of an axe coming towards her way. She blocked it with her shield before slicing off the arm of its wielder. Moving, angling, ducking; it was all becoming a dance, the steps repeating over and over until she's where she wanted to be.

A hand latched onto her wrist by surprise and instinctively, Aza prepared to thrust Flyssa deep into their gut. She halted, immediately, when she looked up to see it was the bloodied and dirtied face of Jon Snow. Her breath caught in her chest, emotion lodged in her throat to see he was alive and whole. He looked relieved to be seeing her too, but quickly does he move to sink Longclaw into the neck of the the soldier behind her that aimed to attack her from behind.

There was no time to say what she truly wanted. She had seen him; alive, whole, and unbroken. That was enough to swallow down all the fears that plagued her. Apparently he had felt the same because he had let go of her arm, shifting their positions so that he had his back pressed up against hers. Aza keened her ears, unified shouting coming from the far distance; "We do!" It continued. Both Jon and herself frowned at the sound of what seemed like hundreds of men increasing their morale with a chant.

"We'll be hit with another wave," Jon figured as Aza nodded in agree. The corner of her eyes caught something grey whizzing towards them. Using her back to push him forward, Aza managed to save him from an arrow to his neck. Before he could comprehend what happened, she eviscerated the Bolton archer without missing a single step. A wet spray of blood had hit them both, mostly across their faces. She was practically soaked in blood and none of it was her own thus far. "We can't stay here."

"We can't but we don't have much of a choice." They were still surrounded and the only way to get out was to cut through. The warmth of his back against hers was gone. Jon had swung Longclaw in a clean arc, disemboweling a footsolider in just that one movement. Tormund had caught up with them with Wun Wun and other Wildlings charging up behind. He managed to save Jon from the sudden tackle that came from out of left field, stabbing clean through the man that laid atop of Jon as they wrestled. Everything was moving too fast, brewing a headache in her head as she tried to keep up to speed with it all.

The feral sounds of men shouting from the other side made her swivel right, wondering if this was the wave Jon had just mentioned. Wun Wun pointed at the same direction she was looking, huffing out a grunt that most certainly did not speak of the severity of the situation they were about to find themselves in. Boltons with tall shields and spears began to surround them, limiting them from moving but so far. Her first instinct was to shield Jon and apparently, that had been Tormund and the others idea as well. Davos had even caught up with them now as they made themselves into human shields. The other half that they could not protect Jon with was blocked by the piles of bodies, which was a morbid relief.

Aza watched as the Boltons sunk their shields into the dirt, making sure they were firmly in place before pointing their spears towards them and their entire force.

"Infantry, advance!" Under that command, the Bolton soldiers sounded off in unison before lifting their shields from the ground to cage them in. Spears shot out repeatedly, stabbing any man their sharp ends could pierce the flesh of. Aza batted wildly with Flyssa, cutting spearheads off and trying to let Flyssa slide through any opening their shields made by accident. She killed one, maybe two, though it was impossible to kill more. The Umber, she remembered that she saw yesterday morning with Ramsay, had stormed down over the pile of bodies. He moved to attack them from the place they were defenseless; their rear.

"With me, lads!" Davos bellowed. "Break their line!"

With Jon and the other soldiers, she fought to defend against Smalljon's men while Wun Wun swiped at spears and Tormund steadily attacked the shieldmen. It was difficult and it didn't look as if anyone was winning or losing considering the amount of people dying around them from both sides. Bodies were piling, becoming an actual mountain than the hill of men she had seen earlier. Blood rained down from when Wun Wun tore a man split down the middle as she beheaded an Umber solider that aimed to take her on. How could they protect Jon like this? At this rate, he was bound to die. They were _all_ bound to die.

"Tormund!" A Wildling called out to him. Her head immediately turned to see Tormund was slashed across the arm, having no other choice than to fall back.

"Get him back!" said another.

It was hard to worry for Tormund as well as deal with the advancing shieldbearers all at once. There wasn't even much to do anyway. With the way they kept coming forward, she and the others were being forced in on themselves. And now it wasn't bodies from both sides piling, it was just Stark men. There was nothing left to defend and so Aza scrambled her way down the pile, nearly slipping from from the bloody, limbs sprawled mess until she's on the ground and running towards Jon.

"Jon!" she cried out his name, the arm that held the shield reaching out to him. He heard her, it seemed as if he had, but the Wildlings had overtaken them and all she felt was her body hitting hard onto the ground. She can't see the damage of her body hitting so hard onto the ground, but gods be damned she can feel it. Aza cried out at the startling burst of pain that spiked through her rib from the way she fell. Before she could process her fall, a vicious foot kicked at her other side, leaving her dazed and breathless by the blow.

"Aza!" It sounded dim, far away, yet she is sure that she could hear Jon screaming her name. Blinking the black that was attempting to cloud her vision, she tried to search for him just to end up wincing and wanting to lie still for a few minutes. She can't, though. Lying still just isn't in her, even if she is in pain. Tilting her head upward, uncaring of how she let the column of her neck be exposed in such a position, she shifted her grip on Flyssa and stabbed upwards.

"You fucking… _bastard_!" she roared ferociously, praying she got the soldier that kicked her. The tip of Flyssa tore into the armor of a man's torso, and she's searching to thrust the sword in deep as she possibly can. With a snarl, glee filled her as she could feel the jerk of the body as her sharp Valyrian steel slid and hit something she knows for sure would bless a fatal wound. With a jerk, she released her sword and watched the body fall to the ground with a crash. A grin etched itself on her face as pain and satisfaction rattled her bones.

With one hand planted on the bloody and muddy earth, Aza tried to keep herself from toppling face first into the ground. Blackness was still insisting on crowding her vision, however. Before she knew it, her body slid across the ground, against the grass, against the mud. Fear struck her like lightning and she kicked her feet, trying to get herself to her feet to stop whoever was dragging her. It was fruitless, the fighting. A body crushed itself against her, arms wound around her tight, as she was kept to the ground. She couldn't see a thing because a chest was shielding her vision. It starts to make sense, what's happening, that is. Jon laid atop of her, saving her from the being crushed in what seemed like a stampede of men. She was breathing but the air just wouldn't go in. Jon's weight and the applied pressure of the men rushing on top of them made her lungs feel constricted with metal bands, unable to expand to keep or take in any air. He held her tight, held her close, and she thought she might die if this kept on.

Jon had tried to force them up, shielding her as he grabbed onto anyone and everything like detached limbs, arms and legs alike, to hoist himself up. Aza followed him, using his surcoat to get herself to her feet until the both of them emerged from the mass of men to regain air. It felt like they broke an ocean's surface but instead of water, they broke free of tightly packed Stark soldiers, Wildlings, and Boltons around them.

Her eyes tried to drink in all that was happening and it was difficult to when tears were starting to flood her eyes. Wun Wun was fighting off as many men as he could, spears and arrows all over his body, and she knew for sure that he was going to die if this kept up. Tormund was locked in battle with the Umber, and was losing. His face was bloody, nose broken, and eyes dazed as Smalljon repeatedly thrust the crown of his head against Tormund's forehead.

They were going to die. She was almost sure of it. Her teary eyes looked to Jon, who was looking at her now, something with regret mixed with hopelessness. If they were going to die like this, Aza was glad they'd go together. Her arm reached out to him and he outstretched his, taking her hand in the process. Her smile was broken and almost felt painted on.

A horn sounded off in the distance, startling her completely. Did Ramsay have reinforcements? Were they going to be hit with another wave? All her fears melted when she saw a charging cavalry, banners of blue and white waving in the wind. The sigil of a falcon soaring against a white moon. If she remembered right, that was the sigil of House Arryn. The House of Sansa's late aunt, Lysa Arryn. Arryn soldiers in their gleaming silver armor headlong galloped down the hill, crushing the shieldbearers from the rear before circling around and taking them all down.

It gave them enough time to climb atop the mountain of bodies, breaking free of the horde to find Ramsay not too far and on his horse. Wun Wun and Tormund climbed up beside them, eyes holding fire in them as they saw the Snow-Bolton bastard. "Go," Aza urged Jon, Wun Wun, and Tormund on. "Take care of Ramsay and I'll help finish things here." She would've rather went with him, but her body couldn't keep to speed with them if they were going to run. Her rib alerted her of that and she was going to do her best not to go too much past her limit until necessary. She couldn't afford to black out right now.

Jon spun to face her, looking torn from chasing Ramsay and keeping to her side. "I said go, you idiot! I'll be fine here."

"Aza," he attempted to argue, frustrating her to high heavens. Aza pushed her arms out to shove him, making him stumble a few steps back. "I'm not going to leave you here!"

"I said go! If I was gonna die, I would've done so already. I have to see if Rickon is alright… Please!" Rickon was fine, of that she was sure of. It was just a good excuse to make Jon leave her side and kill Ramsay and end all of this already. Davos had given her that look, letting her know that the young Stark had been told to fall back long before the battle had gotten this crazy. He wouldn't allow anything to have happened to him, Davos cared plenty for the boy than to have allowed that. He kept silent, however, possibly out of respect towards her wish or maybe he just knew better than to argue with her now.

The back of her neck was clutched tightly by Jon's gloved hand. He pulled her forward for a scorching kiss, making her stand on the very tip of her toes and arch into him. The kiss was bruising, possessive, and rough. If this was their last kiss, she had been grateful that it was full of passion. She thanked the Seven that they had given her plenty of time to relish in it, if only for a moment. She also cursed the Seven because it would make her greedy for more.

She was the one to break away, taking in the sight of stray tears that tried to wash a path down his dirty face. His forehead came to rest against her own, letting her breathe in the air he expelled, if what could be the very last time. "I'll come back to you, Aza." His voice was a hoarse whisper, his lips pressing against the tip of her blood-stained nose as he spoke; "I promise."

"Aye, I know." She shoved him again, and this time it had been lightly. "Now go, and don't come back unless the fucker is dead, yeah?"

His nod was weak, showing how loathe he was to leave her. It had been Davos that encouraged him. "We have to go. We can't let them have Winterfell too secure."

"Your woman will be fine, Snow. It's these fuckers out here that won't be." Tormund added, a smile in his voice as well as one his face. Aza mouthed him a thank you, glad to know that it was always Tormund that would never doubt her.

"Take care of him," Aza said to Tormund, Davos, and Wun Wun. "If he dies then I'll kill all three of you, y'hear?" Wun Wun the giant grunted at her words. Her playful threat was enough to make him smile. If only she had knew that this would be the last time she would see the giant, alive and smiling. "Now go! All of you, g'on."

Tormund had pushed Jon forward, whose steps were lacking as he kept his eyes focused on her while walking backwards. She did her best to swallow any sort of sob that dared to crawl up her throat. _He will be fine,_ she told herself. _He will live._ The gods or some god was with him, they had to be after all the odds they fought against. Soon Jon ran, Tormund, Wun Wun, and Davos following behind him as they sped towards the gates of Winterfell. Aza re-tightened her hold on Flyssa, turning back to the battlefield that wasn't as chaotic as it had been before. Bolton men were dying left and right, House Arryn eradicating them as if it were nothing to it.

Instead of giving up, some men kept on with the fight although they knew the tide wasn't in their favor anymore. One man, Harald Karstark, was in a frenzy, killing any Stark man and Wildling he came across. Aza would be the one to end him. She had decided that when her eyes caught him in the middle of the field.

Aza launched herself at him, Flyssa held up. She had hoped to get him by surprise, but he caught her and expected her attack. At the last minute, Aza dropped down to the ground with full usage of her momentum, rolling herself to barrel straight into his legs. He fell forward, boots scraping her back, and he was down on the ground. Before she could land a decisive blow, a fist met her face and she flew backwards, landing on the ground and skidding across the grass.

 _Fuck_ , she thought. Her entire left cheek was _throbbing_. "You're that foreign bitch," he said. "Didn't know Snow had his whores fighting his battles for 'im."

Aza didn't expect for a fist, she prepared for a sword. If this man wanted a fistfight then she was willing to give him one. Gathering up the blood mixed with spit in her mouth, she spat it out and got herself back onto her feet. Roughly did she unhook the shield from her arm, letting Flyssa rest on the ground at her feet. "I can't imagine what your family will think when it's known that a whore killed you in this battle."

His fist managed to slam into her face again while hers sunk into his stomach. Blood pooled in his mouth this time while she stumbled back, trying to catch her gods-forsaken breath. He had hit the same cheek and so now it flared with pain twice as much. At least the contact wasn't as strong as the first. They dived back into each other, eyes narrowed in determination. Aza dodged the fist that he swung towards her right while he weaved away from her counter. Harald's head tilted back and slammed into hers, making stars come alive in her vision. It had thrown her off, just for a moment, but she quickly shook it off. She was born with a hard head.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head, fingers clutching tight to his hair as she brought her knee up to his nose. The blunt crack of his nose meeting her knee cap was like music to her ears. Her lips took the shape of a smirk as her eyes observed the rivers of blood that poured from both his flared nostrils. His nose was twisted, showing how she had managed to break it. She didn't have time to admire her work since he easily regained himself, his fist drawn back to plow into her stomach. He fisted the air out of her, but she repaid him in kind with a fist colliding into his jaw with her all her weight into it.

They fell to the ground together yet she didn't give him the chance to get any sort advantage. She straddled him, hips caging his sides, while her hand repeatedly pummeled into his face. Her hand felt like it was on fire from the constant contact of fist to face, and it became too much of a strain to keep at it. Her battered fist reached for Flyssa just an arm's length away and she ended it all with a plunge of her sword straight through his chest.

Her tongue was soaked with the metal taste of blood, her rib was bruised, and she was winded. Her head was pounding, too. Aza climbed off the corpse, Flyssa still embedded in his chest as she rolled onto the ground. The world is still in focus, thankfully, and she isn't ready to blackout like before. She's just cold and tired, wanting for a little time of rest. Her heart yearns to know if Jon is fine, though her spirit takes kindly to believe that he is. She would've felt it, wouldn't she?

Horse hooves had grown louder in her ears, making Aza's body tremble with annoyance at the thought of getting up and fighting again."Aza!" Her eyes widened at the sound of the voice, her arms immediately pushed against the earth to sit up just to feel a warm body collide into hers. It was Rickon, arms wrapped around her tightly. Aza broke out into a smile, sagging into the young boy in her arms and nuzzling her face against the side of his head. "You're alive…" he sobbed with relief. "I saw you lying there. I thought… I thought you were dead!"

"You should know better than to think I'd die out here." His hold on her tighten, his laughter making all the tension in her disappear. She then looked up to see Sansa, who was climbing off her horse and approaching them with quick steps.

"Are you wounded?" she asked, voice full of worry as her eyes inspected for any signs of an injury. "Your face…" The words died on her lips, almost as if she had been afraid to point out the beating she received.

"Aye, he got me good, didn't he? I'm fine. My rib hurts and my face is bound to swell, but I'm all right."

Sansa nodded before lifting her eyes to look up at Winterfell. "Come ride with us. Jon has been there for a while. Ramsay should be…"

 _Dead_ , Aza finished the sentence mentally. With a nod, she allowed Rickon to help her to her feet after picking up Flyssa and sheathing it across her back. He stuck close, one arm around her waist and the other keep hers around his small shoulders. He behaved as if she would fall any minute or if she had a wounded leg. He was right to assume she needed his support, she did feel woozy as they walked. She felt worse when she mounted Rickon's horse, doing her best not to show her struggle as the boy sat in front of her. She struggled to take seriously that she would have to hold onto this little boy to keep steady, but it was the only option she had.

They rode in a rush, everything becoming a blur to her as she did her best to keep her eyes open. Her stomach lurched and she forced herself to swallow the bile that tried to seep past her lips. The ride was short, fortunately, and Sansa had been kind to help her down with Rickon's help. But she hadn't let go, Aza noticed. Sansa would not let go of her hand. Aza looked at her and for once, Sansa allowed the fear to be shown on her face. With a smile, she gave Sansa a sure nod, a sign that all was well and that she wasn't alone. No matter what they would come to find in Winterfell's courtyard, Sansa would be safe. The three of them walked in together, flanked by Arryn soldiers.

It was surprise that bloomed in them at the sight of Jon repeatedly and brutally punching Ramsay, whose face was a mangled mess of blood and dirt. Sansa watched with controlled emotions while Rickon wore his delight. Aza felt nothing except relief that Jon was still alive. Jon turned to them before he could strike another blow, his eyes meeting Sansa's first who looked at him with an expression that told him not to kill Ramsay. He obeyed, standing and then walking from Ramsay's beaten form as Aza stumbled towards him. She fell into him, head pressed to his chest as his arms quickly moved to wrap around her tight. Amidst all her pain, all her weariness, her lips parted into a victorious smile.

Winterfell was of the wolves again.

 **SANSA**

Pleasure.

Sansa radiated with pure, utter pleasure watching him be devoured by his own dogs. The ones he called Bastard Girls. He deprived them of food, hoping to unleash them watch them tear apart her family. How could he ever dream that it was his own death that he unknowingly prepared himself for? Echoing like shades of those long gone were his cries of agony. He shouted and pleaded for them to sit. To stop. Her lips curled upward at the imagery of him being torn limb from limb with no power, no strength, to even give the slightest bit of struggle to fight back. Ramsay always prided himself in being the strong and clever one. The one who moved ahead before his opponent could even give thought to strategy. He lost in the same way all his victims had, and that was the worst lost imaginable for him.a crimes he committed.

Though the thought of even thinking about it bothered her, she had to wonder if there was some truth in what he said. How much of her was left? How much of Sansa Stark, the blood of Winterfell, remains within her now? Was it possible that he did own a place in her that would always live no matter how much she wished him away? She became the same as he, for a moment, relishing in cries until silence filled the kennels once more. That wasn't the Stark way, that was the Bolton way. Her blue eyes teared at the very thought that her own father, her precious lord father that she would never see again, would've killed him honorably. In the ways of the old; the Stark way. He would've gave him an execution for all to see, for all to know, of his rightful punishment for the crimes he committed.

Sansa took that from him because she _knew_ him. She knew Ramsay would've adored a public execution and in some way or another, his death would actually be to his choosing. He would be remembered, and she promised him that nothing would be left of him. She couldn't have that. She had to take from him. She had to take from him as much as he had taken from her. Did that make her a monster? Did that make him like him? _No,_ she told herself adamantly. _I am a Stark_. She raised her chin high, swallowed the sobs down her throat, as she walked from the kennels and into the night of Winterfell. Of her home.

Although it was home, the place she was born and raised, it still proved difficult to be here after what she suffered through. The demons of the past of what horror had been done to her would linger for a long while, she knew. She would remember the abuse with every turn of the hall, she would feel him as she lied in the bed of her chambers. She would remember it all until one day, Ramsay was a mere memory so vaulted that it would be a struggle to even recall him.

"Sansa." The voice, the one that was calling her name, had spoken to her very softly. Her eyes focused in the dark to make out the silhouette that belonged to no one else but Aza.

She had been cleaned from the blood and dirt of battle. Bear Island's Maester had rubbed a poultice on her cheek and rested a cloth of ice water afterwards to help with the swelling. Aza still looked entirely haggard from today's battle still, but none of that explained why she was here. "What are you doing here?" asked Sansa, giving words to what plagued her mind. Her hand laced together before she continued forward, closing the distance between them.

"I wanted to know how you were." That… That surprised her. Wide-eyed, Sansa wondered if it was Ramsay's screams and the savage howls and barks of the dogs that made her worry. Why else? She was unharmed. Ramsay was far from able to escape, if that was what she truly worried about.

"I'm fine," replied Sansa, a small smile on her face that felt more than forced. It didn't feel right to smile. She killed a man— _a monster_ , she quickly reminded herself. It should be joyful to a kill a monster and yet her joy felt wrong. It was downright frightening.

Still did Sansa become as she felt arms wrap themselves around her. It was but a simple touch, a simple gesture and yet… Tears flowed unchecked down her pale cheeks and dripped from her chin. Too weak to wail, Sansa remained still as a statue as a magnitude of emotions swept over her. A hand stroked the back of her, reminiscent to the way her own mother used to cradle her whenever Sansa wept. She immediately dropped her allusions that she was fine. That she had not felt terrible, that she had not felt loss, that she did not feel as though she felt wrong when she wanted to feel right. Had it been because Ramsay was the first blood on her hands? The first man she had ever killed.

Jon and Aza had been kind, trusting, and open to her. She had her trouble of giving back the trust they gave. She was too afraid to trust. She had once been so trusting, just to be used and deceived. She wanted to make that leap and she felt it twice as much right now. Sansa soon pressed her face into Aza's shoulder, her hands gripping tightly to the back of the tunic the Island girl wore as she began to let out all of that she had tried to keep inside.

"You're _nothing_ like him," Aza's words washed over her like warm water. Like the warm rays of the sun after a cold, unforgiving breeze. Sansa sobbed, loudly and messily, in the manner of a child does when all they wanted was to be held to make the pain go away. Aza held her closer, gifting her with that safe feeling Sansa always felt in her presence. She cried and cried until she felt her eyes much too dry, until her throat was much too raw. She cried until the broken innocence in her felt the first soothing touch in the path of healing.

* * *

 **A/N** : This is the longest chapter I have EVER written. I guess I went too far, didn't I? Fighting scenes are so fun though!

As you can see, I changed a bunch of things that I guess you can't say are really major. There's a rush to meet Ramsay into battle, but not the frantic kind because Rickon isn't held hostage and so they could go around and gather their supporters. I would've loved to seen Wylla on the television show but I understand why she's not there.

BigWilly526: Is she? Is she not? Who knows... _yet_. c:

slutsky96: Definitely much closer! I wonder if you'll be surprised or have you figured it out.

lovinurbuks: Thank you, I'm glad you loved it! You stay awesome, too!

xoxo: Really? That's one of the greatest compliments I could ever receive. It would be a shame... if I ruined it. c: Lol. Aza's father is definitely not an oc, I will say that! He's a canon character. Lyanna and Aza are literally so much fun to write and I didn't know it would ever be this fun. I have so much love for this little bear child. Oh definitely, I'm concerned too but I guess I'm always concerned because this is game of thrones after all.

Amelia: I'm glad I highlighted your day! c: Are you sure? Are you reaaallly sure that's her pa?

Lt-Sport89: Thankfully you didn't have to wait that long. I fulfilled my promise not to be that crazy long again.

Naflower05: Hopefully the battle was more than you expected. I really had fun writing it, especially since I had to make some changes. Just thinking of bloody Jon beating the crap out of Ramsay really makes my morning, afternoon, and night.

Alice Williams: Rhaegar had many friends, which surprises me. I mean, he wasn't the most liveliest person but he had lots and lots of friends and some considered to be his best like JonCon. c: So it could be. I'm not spoiling.

I'm not sure it's the north that'll have their hands full with them, it's Jon. Lmao. He's barely going to catch a break, but fierce ladies watching his back is what I love. Ohohoho, you know it could never be that simple. c:

anelle25: I'm glad you loved the chapter! c:

kate langdon: I think it's impossible to not love Lyanna. And maybe! Perhaps. JonCon making an appearance would be shocking, wouldn't it? c:

A. Alice-LaCasse: Someone is going back and connecting clues, I see. Plenty of people have died for Rhaegar, though! c: It does make sense but is it really him?

Thank you for this review! It made me giddy that someone remembered Jon's dream. And BoTB was fun to write, so I hope you liked it.


	25. Chapter 24: The King In The North

**AZA**

Winterfell wasn't a great beauty like the Red Keep, neither was it ever said to be one either. In actuality, Winterfell had a charm about it that was sorrowful and powerful, and that feeling was solely based from its presence alone than the actual sight of it. She hadn't roamed much about the place, having been kept in a maester's rookery due to her injuries after Sansa led her back from their talk outside the kennels. She wanted to explore the very heart of the place Jon had been raised in, the home that shaped him into that sullen and loving man she knows. Most of all, she should get to know the very castle they nearly lost their lives to take back, shouldn't she? So when the Bear Island's maester left her for her intended rest, and Jon wasn't lecturing her or tucking her forcefully in bed nor was Rickon around to breathe down her neck, Aza left. She left to take a tour of Winterfell by herself. Well, not entirely by herself; Ghost had taken it upon himself to keep her company.

The tips of her fingers had ghosted along the warm and grey wall of centuries old granite, her eyes catching sight of the decorations that hung the walls modestly. House pride was shown, just not boastfully like in New Castle, and it had suited this humble family. The torches had helped guide her path despite it being so early on in the day, but that was to be expected. Winterfell was naturally dark since it was built for colder weather unlike the open, airy place that was the Red Keep or had bright and heavily decorated walls that was New Castle.

After a few steps, Aza had soon noticed that Ghost had suddenly stopped mid trot. She did the same before turning around to see what captured his attention. At a few paces behind them stood Melisandre. It was hardly a good thing when Melisandre personally sought her out. What made it all worse was the way the fire from the torches made her skin aglow and shadowed half her face. Aza's stomach churned sourly within an instant. "I'd like a word with you," she said after having noticed that Aza was aware of her presence.

Wordlessly, she agreed and followed the Red Woman with Ghost at her heels.

They rounded the corner and went down the long stretch of the hall until Melisandre opened a door and slipped quietly in. Aza assumed this was the place she was meant to stay in, considering this was the guest-apartments, if she remembered correctly when she passed here with Sansa earlier. Following her, Ghost quickly barged in first, almost as if to inspect the room before she had so much as taken a foot inside. The direwolf's behavior had been so strange lately and Aza wasn't sure what to make of it. Jon had thought her to be reading too much into things by saying Ghost is just attentive because her feelings have changed towards him. He's more affectionate now that he knows she won't turn him away or bark at him. She supposed he was right, for who would know more about the direwolf than Jon?

Taking a seat, Aza sank herself into it and awaited for whatever it was that Melisandre wanted to talk about. It came as a surprise when the woman had instead took a teapot and poured a cup of tea. Her pale and slender hand had gracefully placed a white teacup on a tea plate, serving it to her as if they were old friends about to have a casual chat. Aza had stared at it for quite some time, not sure what to think of it. She never had pure tea before, never inquired a taste to try it either. Moon tea was enough to make her worry that it might taste foul. More importantly, she was not exactly sure as to why Melisandre gave it to her without at least offering first.

"Drink," Melisandre urged. "It will revitalize you." Aza continued to cautiously stare at the hot drink, watching wisps of steam curl and twist before disappearing before her very eyes. The tea itself was a reddish-orange, making it a little less alluring to her. Anything associated with the color red reminded her too much of the woman sitting before her and that wasn't always a good thing. Red and terrible, the Lady Melisandre was. "I haven't poisoned it," she said, the tone in her voice to suggest she was teasing. Her joke only made Aza _twice_ as wary.

"I didn't think you did until you said that," Aza jested in return although there was some truth in it. She supposed her body needed all the help it can get anyway. She had put it through all Seven hells these past months. Now that she had more than enough time to rest, she should be eager to keep it in a healthy condition. She was freshly twenty and she didn't need to be falling apart so young. After all, a war was coming soon and she needed to be stronger by then. Aza couldn't so much as flip the White Walkers off in the condition she was in now.

Picking up the cup by the handle, Aza brought it to her nose for a sniff. The tea was fragrant, smelling sweetly of raspberries. Despite how carefully she took her first sip, she instantly hissed and grimaced at the burn of the heat on her tongue. The tea itself was sweet in taste and a bit addicting, but not good enough to burn her mouth for a second time.

"Thank you for the tea," Aza said with sincerity. "My body has been through more than I ever thought it could endure." It amazed her just how much years of fighting and training had managed to cultivate her body into the force it was now. Had she been weaker, Aza was sure she would've died years ago.

"Your body isn't yours anymore." Aza suddenly stiffened at the woman's words, eyes widening by a fraction. "Neither does Jon Snow's body belong to him. You both are in the Lord's hands, carrying his favor, and he needs you to protect His children during the Long Night. Jon Snow is the Promised Prince and you are who keeps him from the shadows that linger."

Aza kept her mouth closed, not knowing exactly how to respond to any of that. She still had trouble trying to understand if this R'hllor was real or not. If he wasn't real then who gave Melisandre the power to bring Jon back? Not the Seven. _Most certainly not them,_ she persisted with the thought. Not once could it ever been possible that the Stranger felt so inclined given back what he so rightfully taken. But if R'hllor was real then…

"First you claimed it was Stannis and now it's Jon." Part of her had wanted to believe it was true. She wanted to think that what the woods witch had told her was about Jon. That it was Jon she would devote her life to in destroying the harbinger of chaos midst the Winter. "You really don't know, do you?"

"I truly believed it to be Stannis," the woman replied rather somberly. "When I first began having visions of Azor Ahai, all my visions in the flames revealed to me Dragonstone." The fires showed her Dragonstone and because Stannis was the lord of it, she assumed him to be Azor Ahai? It made some sense, of why Melisandre assumed R'hllor's champion to be Stannis because of that. Her god wouldn't just send her to random places, now would he? Everywhere this woman went had a purpose, Aza realized. "The Lord of Light led me there. He led me on a clear path to Stannis out of all men."

"But now, every time I ask for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, he only shows me Snow." The look in the woman's blue eyes was trying to convey that her words were the truth. There was no deception on her face, at least not what from Aza could tell. The woman was always vague and her smile were almost if not always treacherous, but Melisandre did not smile this time. She seemed absolutely sure in what she was saying.

To be truthful, all of this was headache inducing; prophecies, promised princes, Azor Ahai, woods witches, foreign priestesses, Jon's painful death and then his shocking resurrection. How was she to make sense of any of this? All she wanted was for _something_ to make sense or be normal for just one moment, but life stopped being normal years ago. Perhaps it was never meant to be normal for her once her mother could never tell her who her father was.

The tea cooled down to a kinder temperature, and Aza brought the cup to her lips for another sip. She didn't know raspberries could make one feel nice. It was certainly helping her feel better, her energy was beginning to spike. It would be nice to sit by the hearth, a blanket of fur draped over her shoulders, and Ghost at her side with the cup of tea. She knew Jon was busy, so she couldn't ask him to sit with her and just rest. It would be too demanding of her, especially now when so many Northern lords were arriving and people of the winter town were flocking. The smallfolk were so eager to go into servitude or help out in any way that they can now that the Starks were back in Winterfell.

"The days will be difficult for you," Melisandre ruined the little peace she tried to summon in her mind. Aza sighed, heavily, having felt weighed down all over again. "And not because of the White Walkers but because the North hasn't forgiven its last king nor queen."

The Islander had already been made aware just from all they traveling they did. It was hard to ignore the loud and downright vicious slander of Robb Stark and his queen, Talisa Maegyr. "I know," mumbled Aza, not wanting to really discuss any of this, but who better to talk to than another woman as foreign as she? For all of the bad and morally grey that was Melisandre, she too had suffered from not being Westerosi. "I'm sure the same could be said of you."

"Yes, it could be." Melisandre's mouth curved into a smile, a smile that proved she knew more than what she was letting on and would not say. Aza fought not to frown at the sight of it, knowing very well she should be very much use to such an expression. "But I would advise you thicken your skin anew. Jon Snow needs you now more than ever and you must not falter, not even once."

A warning, Aza took the woman's words as. She hadn't expected smooth sailing from here on out anyway. With a sigh, Aza drunk more of her tea with a quiet promise that she'll start to mentally prepare herself before the gathering of their bannermen.

 **JON**

Everything was nearly coming together. All of what once belonged to the Boltons had been taken down, thrown outside, and made to burn into ashes. Both Jon, Rickon, and Sansa wanted to make sure that there was not a single trace of the Boltons left and steadily work their way into making Winterfell back into the home they knew once again. Although they knew that it will never truly be the same, not after all they had lost, still they were determined. Winterfell may still be broken, for now, but Jon and his siblings will put the work in to make it whole again.

"The Manderlys are here," Rickon's voice was dripping with venom, his eyes low and glazed with anger. "They have the nerve to come here after what they said. After how they let that Frey bas—" His little brother quickly caught himself, his cheeks completely flushing a bright red after nearly letting the word slip. Jon raised a brow, surprised that Rickon was infuriated enough to swear. "Lord, I meant. After they let that Frey _lord_ say what he said about Robb."

Jon poorly attempted to suppress his laugh, but it had let itself loose anyway. It was more humorous than it was surprising, for his brother to curse, though he knew Sansa wouldn't have much liked to hear their baby brother talk like that. "Speak as you like with me, Rickon. You're a man now and you should be free to say how you think and feel." His hand tousled Rickon's wild hair, who scrunched up his face in false aggravation. "Just be careful not to talk like that around Sansa. She won't very much care for it."

"I know, I _know_ …" huffed Rickon. "She still treats me like I'm six."

"She knows you're not six anymore," Jon tried to explain. "You just have to give her some more time. Remember, the last time she saw you was when you _were_ six. She'll think of you as a man now after having seen you fight your first battle, I'm sure." His brother gave an understanding nod although he was still somewhat annoyed. Jon was still full of pride having heard how much of a good bowman his little brother grew to be. He'd have to thank Rowan for that when he saw him again. "You didn't think the Manderlys would come crawling back to us now that Ramsay is dead?" Jon hadn't thought it would be so quick, especially since they were tiptoeing around the Freys. Perhaps Lord Manderly hoped that with the North unified again, he could get his son back with ease.

"He brought a lot of food with him, too." Rickon fixed a look at him and Jon immediately knew that Lord Manderly fixed himself as an option they couldn't turn away from. Their lord father had once made it his top priority about there being enough food in the storage to last them a whole Winter. That was all ruined from King Robert's visit plus the food Robb had taken on his campaign along with the Boltons doing whatever they pleased. The food storage desperately needed to be refilled and quickly now that Winter was here. Jon would just have to hold his tongue, accepting the food they brought with them because he knew that his personal feelings couldn't get the best of him.

"We won't refuse him," Jon made clear. Rickon grounded his teeth, eyes vehemently rolling. "You know we can't, Rickon. No matter how we feel."

"I know," he sighed this time. It would take some time for Rickon to understand responsibility should always be placed on a higher tier than wounded feelings. But for now, Jon wouldn't be so hard on him. He's still young and he has to learn and he won't learn unless he makes mistakes and think for himself. After all, who was to say that Jon would always be around to give him proper advice? Death could take him any day for death didn't care that he had so much more to do. "Now that Winterfell is ours again, do you think Arya will come back home?"

His heart ached just upon hearing his baby sister's name. It's been too long since he last laid eyes on Arya, but she's still so vivid in his memories because he had loved her the most. What would she look like now? The thought would come to mind whenever he was left alone to ponder. Sometimes he wondered if he would even know her, and that pained him more. Arya Underfoot, they used to call her, for her face was always dirty from play. Would she still have that little sword he had gotten Mikken to forge for her? Needle, she had named it, if he remembered right. But all of this is on the assumption that she's even still alive…

"We can only hope," he muttered, having no real conviction to believe that it may be possible. He doesn't want to stir any false hope in Rickon and neither does he want to stir it within himself. Rickon remained quiet, seemingly dropping the topic to display his hurt on his face as well. "I'm going to be sending a raven to Old Town. Sam should know everything that's happened lately instead of being blindsided. Is there something you want me to write to him for you?"

Before Rickon could so much as say another word, they were interrupted by Lord Manderly. "Lord Rickon, Lord Snow." Jon inwardly groaned, not having prepared himself to mentally deal with this man just yet. He felt all out of sorts now. Wyman steadily approached them, his good-daughter walking alongside him, and his granddaughters behind them as they were surrounded by their trident bearing soldiers.

"Lord Manderly," Jon bowed his head politely upon greeting. Rickon had done the same, only much more stiffly. "It's nice to see that you have come to join us. I didn't think you would considering your ties with the Freys." It wouldn't hurt to be a little sharp around the mouth. Apparently, Wyman had expected such, his expression softening to a look of complete understanding.

"If I may, Lord Snow, have a private audience with you?" The request was simple, but it left Jon wary. What excuses was this man going to come up with and did Jon feel like hearing them at the moment? He had cast a glance at Rickon, who rolled his eyes and nodded, somewhat agreeing he should give Manderly his ear. With a small smile, he clapped Rickon's shoulder and looked to Lord Manderly with a neutral expression.

"Of course," he agreed. Wyman had turned to his family, telling them he would only be gone for a short while and that they should get themselves comfortable. Wylla had soon peered over her grandfather's shoulders to look at him.

"Father, may I ask Lord Snow a question?" Wylla pleaded, and Lord Manderly looked none too happy about it. Jon supposed the man was afraid the girl might embarrass him for a second time.

"I…" Wyman then cleared his throat. "If Lord Snow is willing to listen…"

"Aye," Jon shifted his attention from the girl's grandfather and at her. "What is it that you would ask of me, Lady Wylla?"

The girl's older sister kept herself austere like he remembered her being back in New Castle. Strange how Wylla was so full of life while her sister, Wynafryd, was lacking any sort of light in her eyes. He wondered if that's how he appeared standing next to Robb in his youth. "If it isn't too imposing…" She bit her bottom lip, looking almost troubled to say what was on her mind. "Where is your betrothed? I haven't seen her at all since we've arrived."

Wyman then turned around, his blue eyes searching for Aza as well before looking at him. "Ah, yes, the Summer Islander. She made quite the impression in Merman's Court despite saying little." Jon hadn't expected them to inquire after her. After all, the people of New Castle along with their guests made it known how little they cared for foreigners. If Aza made an impact, Jon had to wonder if it was a good or bad one.

"She suffered some injuries from battle," Jon informed them, deciding to be honest since he didn't feel any reason to lie. "She's been made to rest under a maester's orders."

Wylla, shocked as well as openly disappointed, had then took a hesitant step forward. "She's not wounded badly, is she?" It was strange how Wylla seemed so inquisitive and even more strange that Jon thought her worry to actually be sincere. Aza and Wylla had not interacted at all, so why did she seem as if she was inquiring after an old friend? "Many of us had heard she fought alongside you. We…" The green-haired girl then began rubbing her arm. "We think of her brave… Heroic, even. We were curious if she'd regale us of what happened…"

Rickon crossed his arms and slowly shook his head. "She doesn't need to hear any of that. Do you know what this would do to her head? As if it isn't big already…" Of course, Aza was and probably will always be arrogant when it came to her swordplay. She would be more than pleased to hear how she gained a following after this, especially a following made up of mostly women.

"When she's well-rested, I'll be sure to let her know, Lady Wylla." The girl beamed at him, her nod quick yet eager. "Aza would be glad to know you feel that way about her." A little bit of a stretch, though Jon was sure Aza would be somewhat genuinely happy.

"And one more thing, My Lord," Wylla quickly turned around and hurried a few paces towards one of the guards that had a basket in his hands. Jon and Rickon quickly glanced at one another, curious and confused, before Wylla returned and handed a cloth covered basket to her father.

Wyman nodded his thanks before making his way towards Jon and gifting it to him. Jon raised the cloth to get a sight full of ripe and full peaches. The man seriously thought he could worm his way back into his good graces with all the imported harvest he brought. "I'm sure your intended would be pleased to have them, Lord Snow." Jon rose a curious brow, wondering why peaches of all things would be assumed as something Aza would like. "They're summer peaches from the Summer Isles; good and ripe, freshly picked." Schmoozing, that's what Wyman was doing. Jon couldn't actually believe that not only through harvest, Lord Manderly thought to personally bring summer peaches specifically to curry favor with Jon through Aza.

Personally, Jon wasn't even sure if Aza even liked peaches, considering there weren't any fruits to be eaten in the Watch other than apples. Neither of them cared to bother a thought of specific types of food one another enjoyed because they only ate what Hobb could prepare them or the game they hunted in the Land of Always Winter. "Thank you, Lord Manderly," he kept his polite countenance. "I'm sure she'll be… _thrilled_."

Seemingly pleased, Wyman then gave a dip of his head for Jon to lead the way to where they could speak privately. Jon took them down the opposite end of the hall, leading them directly to his father's old study. Inside, white banners of House Stark's direwolf were draped in every corner of the spacious room. On the desk, made of black brier wood, was a vase with only two red poppies upon Sansa's request. She said it was to represent that they cared and grieved for those who nobly fell in battle, and it would make a good impression upon the lords to know that the dead were not forgotten. Along with the vase were stacks of books and papers, things he had to sort through. In a corner, a bookshelf was bursting with books and scrolls with another stack of papers at its feet. It looked like a busy place despite it being recently refurbished and not yet used.

Jon took a seat in the armchair behind the desk. The sight of it alone gave a statement of authority, leading Jon to think of it as too ostentatious with its detailing. It was a deep grey, nearly matching the stone walls of Winterfell, but just a lighter shade so it didn't blend in. The wood, of deep mahogany, had been polished to a high shine. It made him uncomfortable to sit in it, knowing it suited Sansa more since she was the Lady of Winterfell now, but he would have to make do with it for now. The basket of fruit had been placed on the empty spot on the desk that wasn't close to the edge or obscuring his view of Lord Manderly, who only sat down after Jon gestured for him to.

With a sigh, Lord Wyman then began to speak; "I have treated you most shamefully, I know. I had my reasons. Only as of a few days ago I've been informed that Wylis, my eldest son and heir, died along with King Robb. When treating with liars, even an honest man must lie. I did not dare defy King's Landing so long as my last living son remained a captive. Lord Tywin Lannister wrote me himself to say that he had Wylis. If I would have him freed unharmed, he told me, I must repent my treason, yield my city, declare my loyalty to the boy king on the Iron Throne… and bend my knee to Roose Bolton, his Warden of the North. Should I refuse, Wylis would die a traitor's death, White Harbor would be stormed and sacked, and my people would suffer the same fate as the Reynes of Castamere."

The Freys were despicable as well as the Lannisters. They fooled a man for years into believing his son was alive and demanded so much more from him. Jon's eyes then caught sight of a flagon of wine along with two wine cups among the mess atop of the desk. He began to wonder if a drink would soothe man some. "Would you like some wine, Lord Manderly?" he offered.

"Yes, of course." Jon pushed the chair back and stood, taking the flagon by the handle and pouring a wine cup to the brim. Wyman took it once Jon handed it towards him and took a sip of the summerwine. Another sigh escaped him, his shoulders relaxing some. "My Wylla, remember how brave she was? Even when I threatened to have her tongue out, she reminded me of the debt White Harbor owes to the Starks of Winterfell, a debt that can never be repaid. Wylla spoke from the heart, as did Lady Leona. Forgive her if you can, My Lord. She is a foolish, frightened woman, and Wylis was her life. Not every man has it in him to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes, and not every woman can be as brave as my Wylla and her sister Wynafryd… who did know, yet played her own part fearlessly."

If he had known they were all pretending before the Freys, Jon wouldn't have left so quickly and neither would have Sansa. But how could they have known? The Manderlys played their parts far too well. "They watched me, my friends of Frey. Day and night their eyes are on me, noses sniffing for some whiff of treachery. You saw them, the arrogant Ser Jared and his nephew Rhaegar, that smirking worm who wears a dragon's name. Behind them both stands Symond, clinking coins. That one has bought and paid for several of my servants and two of my knights."

"One of his wife's handmaids had found her way into the bed of my own fool. When you and Lady Sansa departed, I wanted to write a letter, but I had dare not even trust my Maester. Theomore is all head and no heart. You heard him in my hall. Maesters are supposed to put aside old loyalties when they don their chains, but I cannot forget that Theomore was born a Lannister of Lannisport and claims some distant kinship to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. Foes and false friends are all around me, Lord Snow. They infest my city like roaches, and at night I feel them crawling over me."

"Both my sons, Wendel and Wylis, came to the Twins as guests. They ate Lord Walder's bread and salt, and hung their sword upon the wall to feast with friends. And they murdered them. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter… but never think that means I have forgotten. The North remembers. Your lady sister said that to me in spite of me having not forgotten. The North remembers, and the mummer's farce is done. My sons are dead and so is the Bolton bastard."

"I wish there was something I could do for you, Lord Manderly." He hadn't suspected that so much of the North was in turmoil. So many sons and daughters lost due to the hands of the Greyjoys, the Lannisters, and the Freys. There needed to be time for healing, but time wasn't on their side. It never was. "There is nothing I can promise you that is close to the worth of the lives of your sons."

"I'm afraid there is nothing you can do, My Lord." Wyman had stared down into his cup. "And neither do I inquire anything. I have taken vengeance in my own hands hence why my granddaughter remains unmarried." Jon, astonished at the admission, rose both his brows. Wyman's grin was enough to let him know that Rhaegar Frey, Jared, and Symond were all dead. "All I want is for you to know is that House Manderly is loyal. White Harbor is of the Starks and we will never change. We _never_ did."

"I'll never suspect your loyalty again, Lord Manderly." Jon gave a small smile and reached out his hand to which Wyman gave him a firm shake.

"That's all I need to hear." Wyman lurched forward, gathering himself to his feet with the wine cup still in his hands. "Best I go see Lord Glover and the rest of these Northerners. I haven't seen a good lot of these lads in years."

Lord Glover was here as well? Jon hadn't expected him to arrive, especially how he so viciously turned him and Sansa away. At least Lord Manderly was within reason, but him of all men… No, he had to accept it. He couldn't get beside himself. "The hospitality of Winterfell is yours, Lord Manderly."

Taking the basket of peaches off the desk, both Jon and Wyman exited the study in a much lighter mood than when they initially entered. It was a good thing, to know the truth and re-forging centuries old loyalty without a fight. It would've been better had they settled this sooner, but now was better than later and Jon wouldn't forsake it. He would have to do the same with Lord Robett Glover, too. The North had to be put back together again through any means necessary.

"Lord Snow," came a quavering voice from down at the end of the hall. Both Wyman and Jon had turned to look right at the fast approaching Maester Emery, the maester of Bear Island. "Lord Snow, I had gone to the rookery to check on the lady and it seems she has… left."

"Left?" Jon echoed. "What do you mean she _left_?" It was not his intention to raise his voice, even if it was but a small volume higher.

"She was not there and the bed was cold enough for me to assume she left a good time ago. I warned her to not do any activities but…" But Jon knew what kind of person Aza was. Nothing could make her sit or lie down except extreme injuries. And why did it have to get to the extreme for her to listen? Jon would never know. All that he knew was that he had no idea what to do with her. She'll be the second death of him before she'll be the death of herself.

The breath Jon expelled was heavy and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose out of pure frustration. "Thank you for informing me right away, Maester Emery." It was all he could say considering there was nothing more the man could do. His advice was already ignored, so what could Jon ask of him now? "I'll trouble you no further."

"There was no trouble at all, My Lord. The Lady Lyanna worries for the woman's health as well. Any service that rids the worries of my lady is a service worth doing," Emery explained. "But I'll leave the matter in your hands lest you need me again." The old man bowed his head before taking his leave, allowing Jon to momentarily gather his thoughts.

"Summer Islanders are said to be spirited people, or so I've heard." Jon forced his hand away from his face to take a gander at Wyman's friendly expression. "Surely you can attest to that."

"She's the only Summer Islander I've met, Lord Manderly, though I see that it holds true." Spirited, yes. That word had fit her all too well. She did what she wanted and went as she pleased, and Jon had always known that about her. She hasn't changed much at all since they've first met.

Wyman only laughed before taking his leave, allowing Jon to contemplate where Aza could've run off to. His feet began leading him to his chambers. Chambers that once belonged to Robb, that is. Jon couldn't find it in himself to step into his old room because he feared all the memories would sweep over him like a tidal wave. Memories that would claw into him with only the intention to wound and have him crumpling to the floor like a broken boy. He thought he was strong enough to endure anything, that he could face demons of the past, but he wasn't ready yet. Just like he wasn't ready to step into the crypts that felt like they were in his ears, whispering his name.

As soon as he opened the door, his eyes lifted up from the floor and up at Aza. She was sitting on the snow bear rug by the hearth alongside Ghost, dressed in only her night-rail. The flimsy gown was fitting to her form, the fabric shimmery and silver-pale as if it was spun by threads made of moonlight. He's sure that it's relatively modest, that the hemline reached her knees, but it's ruck up high since her knees are pressed to her chest and blessing him a view of the full and fleshy curve up her bottom. It seemed as though that no matter what she wore or if she wore anything at all, Jon's breath is sometimes if not always caught in his throat.

He smiled as soon as their eyes met. "I have something for you." Jon raised the basket for her eyes to see. "They're summer peaches."

"Summer peaches?" There's excitement in her voice and it takes a physical shape when she quickly scrambled to her feet, and practically ran towards him as he set the basket on the closest table. "Seven hells, I haven't had peaches from the Isles in years!" Her hands are quick to grab one and it only takes a blink of an eye before she sinks her teeth into the ripe and succulent fruit. Jon breathed out a chuckle at how easily she's making a mess and used his thumb to wipe away the juice of the fruit that trailed down the corner of her mouth. "Gods, it's good. Just like I remember."

She ate it until nothing but the pit was left before she grabbed another. Relieved to see her eating and happy, he watched as she ate at least three more before looking up at him with full cheeks. "You like them that much?" Her mouth is too full to answer him vocally and so she gave him an enthusiastic nod. "Make well with Lord Manderly's gift then." Jon's mouth twisted into a smirk as all her happiness slowly turned into firm aggravation as he envisioned it would. The quarter eaten peach in her hand was roughly placed on the table as if it were rotten. She even glared at the rest of them rather disdainfully.

"That bastard is here, huh? Crawling himself in with his tail tucked between his legs, yeah?" Aza kept her nose wrinkled as she chewed and swallowed what was left. He knew for a fact that Aza wouldn't be so ready to accept him. "The _nerve_ of him…"

"We were wrong about him," Jon began to explain before sitting down in the closest chair. "Lord Manderly was always loyal to us, he just had to pretend that he wasn't. The Freys and the Lannisters lied to him, told him that his son was still alive when he wasn't. They even threatened White Harbor and the rest of his family, and so he had no other choice but to openly deny us before the Freys."

Aza's current expression told him that she was still skeptical. He didn't blame her, seeing as she did not witness all the hurt in Wyman's eyes or hear it in his voice for herself. She only had to take Jon's word for it and surely his word was good enough for her. "I see," Aza grumbled before shooting look at at the peach, possibly debating if she wanted to finish it or abandon it. She picked up the mostly eaten fruit and clawed out the pit and set it down with the others before turning to Ghost and offering the peach to him.

The wolf stared at the fruit quizzically and sniffed it first before slowly letting his head fall into a curious tilt. After a minute of observing it, he ate it all in just a few short and choppy bites. Aza raised her hand, patting and then scratching the top of his head as if to give him praise for eating what she nearly wasted. "How are you feeling?" he asked, curious to know if she was still in pain. The swelling of her cheek was gone and it was by the grace of the gods she didn't break the re-break the very same rib she had broken years ago. It was only bruised.

"Better," she answered him before standing upright again. "Lady Melisandre poured me some tea and it made me feel much better than that bitter mess Maester Emery gave me." He remembered the sour look on her face as Emery practically force-fed her. Rickon wouldn't stop laughing the entire time as she mumbled her curses. But now that Jon knew about Melisandre was involved, he had no idea what to make of this 'special' tea she brewed for Aza. The Red Woman gave him back his life, yes, and for that he would always be grateful. He was even beginning to hold a good level of trust for her yet still he was wary.

Better she claimed but it only took a second for him to see a bit of wobbliness in her stride. She needs more rest, and Jon could care less if she began to fuss. Rising from the chair, he marched over to her and eased his arm around her back, the other underneath her knees, and lifted her. Aza hadn't struggled nor uttered a word, all she did was heave out a sigh as he crossed them over to the bed and laid her on top of the furs. "Rest." It was an order, not a suggestion. "For once, listen to me and rest."

"No," Jon withheld a growl, beyond frustrated that she yet again had to make things difficult. "There is a meeting of the bannermen and I can't miss it. I have to be there."

"No one would blame you for being absent, Aza. You have been in fight after fight over a span of three moons. Let yourself rest." It took everything not to yell. Shouldn't he? Maybe his words wouldn't go in one ear and out the other if he showed her how angry he was at her lack of care for her health. "Seven hells, what will it take? Will you only listen until you fall apart?!"

"It's not about whether or not I will be at fault for being absent!" she argued. She forced herself to sit up in efforts to level their their gaze. "I'm to be your _wife_ , my presence is necessary as it is expected." As much as he hated to admit it, she posed a good point. His wife and an unarguably, a part of his council. Her, Tormund, Sansa, Davos, and Rickon were all the strings that just about held him and almost everything else together. He needed no one else but them.

To be fair, Jon could do without her being at the meeting, mainly because he didn't know if he had the willpower to control himself should someone speak one ill word of her. Not all of the North lords accepted her just yet, and he supposed they never will until they were forced to once the two of them were married. "Do you have the patience to ignore them this evening? Many of them still haven't learned to control their tongues."

"I could care less what they say and think of me, Jon." Aza raised her chin up haughtily. "And you shouldn't either. Men and women alike will always have somethin' to say about someone."

"You may not care but I do," stated Jon. "You are to be my wife and I expect them to respect you. I won't allow anyone to say what they will of you."

"What will you do, Jon? Strike them?" Aza had strove to sound serious, and it ended up failing miserably due to her grin. "Will you roll some heads? Then I'll truly be known as the Summer wench that seduced you and drove you mad."

"You mean to say you didn't seduce me?" Jon laughed before dropping his head onto her shoulder, his lips moving against the curve of her neck. "You have driven me mad. Dressed as you are now, it's a battle not to bend you over and take you right now." He littered her neck with kisses and descended down to her shoulder. When he reached the sharp edge of her collar bone, he gave it a teasing nip.

"Don't," she pleaded after filling his ears with a sharp mewl. Her hands had grasped tightly at the sleeves of his biceps, and Jon couldn't determine if her intentions were to keep him right where he was or push him away. "The meeting is within the hour."

"It won't take long." The smile he gave her as he raised his head is a lopsided one, but it doesn't make his words any less true. "But I don't care if we do make them wait."

Her head tilted back as she laughed, the sound bright and colorful like a pale shade of yellow. Sometimes he had to wonder if it makes any sense for him feel completely at peace over her happiness. It only serves makes it more painful to imagine a life without the sound or sight of it. "I love you," Aza said breathlessly.

That was all he needed to lay his hands atop of her shoulders and bend to seal his mouth over hers. Despite how starved he felt, the kiss was soft and languid as if they had no care in the world for time. "I love you, too." The words left him in a murmur against her mouth as his touch glided down her shoulders to gently cup the fullness of her breasts to steadily inch his way towards the ribbon of her night-rail.

"Jon?"

He was so close to pulling the ribbon loose. "Hm?" he hummed instead, far too enraptured at how the thin material would part in a matter of seconds with just a quick pull.

"I'm not fucking you with the wolf in the room."

 **AZA**

The shadows cloaked her well, and it was all she could want. Her mind was far too suspicious to even entertain the idea of joining Jon, Sansa, and Rickon at the high table in the Great Hall. There was solace to be felt standing close to the wall with Flyssa across her back. They were meant to trust these people; lords and such of the North, the Vale, and Wildlings. When she entrusted Jon's safety to others before, he had been murdered. At least here she could watch any strange movements in quiet, though she surmised that people still noticed her either way and probably had something to say of why she chose to be distant. It was better for them to speculate if her and Jon got into a fight than to pick up on her paranoia and lack of trust.

"You can't expect Knights of the Vale to side with Wildling invaders," said one man, his silver armor shining under the little sunlight that peered in from the windows.

Tormund, offended—and rightfully so, in Aza's opinion—shot back; "We didn't invade. We were invited."

"Not by me," said the Arryn knight before sitting back down at the bench.

It was such a petty thing, for the Vale knight to be concerned about the Wildlings out of all things. It should've been a long time coming, really, considering how most Westerosi felt about people North of the Wall. She had been so absorbed about the casual insults about her being foreign that she had completely forgotten that the Wildlings also dealt with discrimination of nearly the same level.

Jon stood from his seat, keeping his calm as he always miraculously managed to do. "The Free Folk, the Northerners, and and the Knights of the Vale fought bravely, fought together, and we won. My father used to say we find our true friends on the battlefield."

His words, unfortunately, weren't all too well received despite them being the truth. "The Boltons are defeated," said one young man. "The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."

 _If only it were that simple,_ Aza thought bitterly. The man had no idea what was to come and Aza somewhat wished she was just as blissfully ignorant. How sweet it would have been to only worry about a storm and nothing else. The poor lad had no idea what was on the other side of the Wall; the sinister, frightening mass army that brought death, cold, and nightmares in their wake for the ages.

"The war is not over. And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won't wait out the storm. He _brings_ the storm." Jon's words were ominous for sure. Too ominous for their liking, too. A bunch of whispers and murmurs began, and she could faintly hear a few of them asking one another of what Jon truly meant by that aside from the small few like Lady Mormont. Lyanna had already been informed of the White Walkers and believed it as well. Aza didn't expect for the others to do so in the same quickness or at all to be fair. Honestly, who would believe them unless they had seen the White Walkers for themselves?

Speaking of Lyanna, the young lady had stood from the bench she occupied and immediately drew the attention of every lord sitting here. "Your sons were butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but you refused the call." Hitching a bow, Aza's eyes slew to the Lord of White Harbor, who shifted awkwardly in his seat. Jon claimed the man had good reasons to refuse them, but it still didn't heal the sting of his favor of the Freys they had been forced to salve in Merman's Court. "You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. But House Mormont remembers. The _North_ remembers."

Rickon rose from his seat as well, the chair screeching as it slid back from his sudden movements. Aza's brows furrowed curiously, her confusion more than just apparent. Even Jon was surprised, having looked to his right at his little brother, who was currently sharing a look with Lyanna across the room. The both of them gave each other what Aza assumed to be an encouraging nod. Just what in Seven hells were they up to and why did Aza suddenly feel dread over such an exchange? "When the North needed someone to lead them after my father's wrongful arrest, my brother Robb became that leader. He became what the North needed; courage, hope, and strength all in one." Rickon, not so much of a boy but a small man, surveyed the Great Hall once before gazing up at Jon as he spoke. "The North did not heal after Robb's death, it fell apart instead, but it was Jon that became what the North needed once more and brought it back together again."

"I say we keep our independence, remain a kingdom of our own, for the Southerners do not know us. They killed our king and lord for their Iron Throne when we didn't want it at all. As Ser Davos Seaworth once said, 'King Robb has fallen, but his war still goes on' and he's right. Robb's war isn't over, it's just the beginning and Winter is here, and it will take a King of Winter to see us through it."

Dumbfounded, that's what she could correctly describe the feeling that coursed through her. Her face had fallen, eyes as wide as she could stretch them, and her mouth hung open with her lips slightly parted. Her head couldn't process for a single second of what Rickon just proclaimed because she was completely, utterly, and foolishly dumbfounded. "I declare my brother Jon Snow as a King of Winter; the King in the North."

"We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day," Lyanna agreed.

Voices of various tones and volumes murmured collectively yet again. Aza couldn't hear them, though. No, her heart was beating so loud as if it was pounding right in the middle of her head and ringing out of her ears. "Lord Rickon is right," said Lord Manderly as he made himself stand. "As well as Lady Mormont, who speaks harshly and truly. My sons died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause 'cause I didn't want more Manderlys dying, but I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf. The King in the North."

 _No,_ she whispered inside her head. _No,_ she wanted to say and stop all of this from happening. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh and her body practically jumped at the familiar sound of a sword leaving its sheath. She did not need to see Wyman place the pointed end of his sword on the ground to know he was kneeling, pledging his allegiance entirely. "I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness." Her gums were practically singing at how hard she locked her jaw, heat rolling off her in waves as Lord Glover only now felt remorse for what he had said and done. He was here because they were the winners, it mattered not to him who was wrong or right before.

"There's nothing to forgive, My Lord." She knew good and well Jon still harbored resentment towards him. It just made her loathe even more how much of a good man he was. How he could easily find the will to accept the foolish man's weak words of forgiveness now that the battle was done. After so many lives were lost.

"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousands years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow… the King in the North!" Lord Glover was all the other men needed to draw their blades and proclaim Jon as king. "The King in the North!"

Every lord, knight, and Wildling had stood with their blades drawn, all of them raised high in their air as they chanted over and over; "The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"

Fear was in her chest yet there was none in her heart. Inside her heart and head, Aza did not want Jon to be king, not because she felt him undeserving but because she knew what being king would entail. She saw it when he was Lord Commander and now she had no other choice but to stand there and watch it again with him as king. There were so many responsibilities already on his shoulders and now poured a thousand more, and it wasn't fair. It was not fair at all for he was only _one_ man.

Aza could help lift the burdens, take a few for herself and share as many as she could with him, but it would never be enough. Nothing would ever be enough now, especially for the glaring fact that a curse just about had a hold on this Stark family. Every Stark man she had heard of that tried to do the right thing ended up slain for it. Jon's father and his brother both met their ends that way. It even went as far back to his uncle and grandfather. Now here she was again, having to pray that Jon didn't meet his end for a second time in the same manner.

" _The_ _King in the North_ ," a familiar voice whispered in her ear and it made her blood curdle. Her eyes slowly flickered left, meeting the eyes of a man she hadn't seen in years. She had been made aware that he was here, though what his connection to the North, but Sansa most of all, had not been explained to her. "You must be proud."

"I never recalled us ever being close enough for casual conversation, Baelish." Aza made certain to not appear distressed. She didn't need Petyr doing his best to seize her up, searching for weakness and grasping it by the tail to slide it in his back pocket for later use.

"And here I thought we were old friends." He was just as sly as she remembered him. They ran into each other frequently back in King's Landing, and sometimes it wasn't just meetings but for an exchange of information and coins. Out of the many things she had regret, meeting Peytr Baelish was one of them. "I see the both of us have climbed up very high in life since we saw each other last—you more than me. Tell me, how does it feel from being a skilled sellsword, a man of the Watch, and now the North's new queen."

 _Queen._

Seven hells, Aza hadn't even thought of that. Her? A queen? _The Queen in the North._

From the walls, to the people, and all things surrounding her was becoming stifling. Aza could feel the thumping of her heart against her chest, her mind replaying the men's chanting in a furious loop. She was about ready to fall apart right then and there from the overwhelming fact that all of this was unfortunately real. Her hands trembled as they pressed themselves to the wall to keep her standing, her stomach continuously heaved as she tried to keep herself from breathing so rapidly. Maybe Jon was right after all. She should've just stayed in bed, at least she might've been prepared to learn all of this than to deal with it all at once.

"You look rather pale," Petyr commented. "Is the child stressing you?"

"W-What?" Aza squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, a cold sweat glistening and sitting atop of her brow. "What are you goin' on about, Baelish?"

"I've been surrounded by women all my life," he clarified. "I can spot a woman with child from leagues away, no matter how many moons she is. That's one thing that cannot be hidden from me." An icy chill crept over her as blood drained from her face. Her expression was of an incredulous, unblinking stare as her brain tried to scramble to make sense of it all. _She couldn't be_. There was no way in this world that she, in this very moment, was with child and she had no inkling about it. "You had no idea at all, did you?" Her fingers curled into fists, nailing digging at the palm of her hands. "And neither does Jon Snow. Tell me, Aza, have you been unaware all this time or is this a secret you mean to keep from him?"

Aza never felt more afraid in her entire life than she had right now. She couldn't breathe for it felt like someone had their hands wrapped around her throat to choke the life out of her. She had to leave, she had to search for Maester Emery and confirm if Baelish's words were true.

* * *

 **A/N** : I would say this is a calm before the storm chapter, but there's already a storm at the end of it. Let the chaos ensue, I say! And by chaos, I mean you guys telling me how you all feel through reviews. I never get tired of hearing how you all feel.

So, apparently, Wylis Manderly died in the tv show... I didn't know that until I re-read Lyanna's speech and because I have no idea what to do with him if he were alive... I decided to go with the show's route. It almost makes Wyman a bit more sympathetic.

Ashies: Thank you! I love writing them, you just don't understand. Jon Snow deserved to be fiercely, unconditionally loved. This man is so wounded and deprived. You know I have to torture him. Having him struggle with all those knots will be fun.

Vulcran: That battle was so much fun.

xoxo: You've been thinking right. I've been throwing hints that she's been pregnant for a while. That's going to come into play, but whether or not the outcome is what you expect it to be is what I'm going to keep quiet about. c:

lilnightmare17: Thank you c:

lovinurbuks: ksdjfhlhknals! That makes me so happy. Ghost definitely knew, and knew for a while and I'm glad someone caught onto that. Thank you! And ha, I probably won't write a chapter that long again unless it's a battle because I always take it to another level when it comes to writing fighting scenes. And yes, I've heard of the rumored name and whether or not it'll be apart of this story, only time will tell. Thanks for telling me about that video because it gave me some more insight.

PorcelainPuppetLady: You and I are on the same wavelength. I like the idea of Rickon and Lyanna, and if they ever married there will be another Lyanna Stark. I have so many feelings about this and I think Shireen is just a little too mature for him.

LadyDV011: Thank you!

1MoreInMe1: It makes me so happy to read that. Thank you so much, and I definitely plan to finish this fic to completion. I couldn't abandon it even if I wanted to.

Psychosae: Thank you!

Amelia: Sansa deserves all the comfort in the world. She's been through too much.

sltsky96: I'm taking special care how I go about Sansa and Aza's relationship because I feel they are naturally incompatible people who are only compatible due the extreme changes in their lives, if it makes sense. It's not so black and white between them as it originally could have been if they met much earlier. Ohh, I love hearing that: "Solidified her place as a Stark" and she'll be an official one in many ways now.

Gina-B-ookworm: Thank you. I hope I can top it. I extremely doubt it, though.

Guest: I will never give up on this story, I promise. And me? A genius? You flatter me too much! I'm glad it made you happy and you love it.

kate langdon: Thank youuu! I love long chapters myself but holy hell, I didn't think I was going to take it that far. I have to give you all the cute so that you guys don't hate me too much later. I'm Momma Karin now, I'm giving all the life. That's... That's gonna be a while as you can see, but Rickon helped him be king. I honestly just can't see why Rickon wouldn't want Jon to be king, I can see this so clearly in my head of that little baby being a super proud little brother.

Serenity10116: It's here! I've updated much more quickly than I thought I would.

htennis: Perhaps your guess is right. You'll definitely find out in the next chapter. c:

A. Alice-LaCasse : I just can't find it in my soul to kill Rickon and I'm pretty cruel at times. Like, insanely cruel, but I just can't see the reasoning for this baby wolf to die. Not on my watch! I'm afraid with the way you all are telling me how you love how healthy their relationship is. Have you guys been reading some toxic stuff? Lol. I'm glad, though. The last thing I want is to put Jon in ANOTHER toxic relationship. Don't get me wrong, his romance with Ygritte was one for the books, but it was not healthy. I wish the show would give me that and I always give what the show doesn't. I canly hope Sansa gets a moment like that with Arya. It probably won't happen, so I'm projecting my wishes on this story. Sansa deserves to rest her little weary heart.

You'll know in the next chapter, so I'm gonna stay quiet about that. Sullen Jon Snow Jr is my favorite phrase now. Can you imagine Tormund, "Look at 'im. Looks as sullen as is pa, don't he?" Because Tormund is an ass that loves to make fun of Jon and I can just see this in my head.

Guest 2: Nothing makes me laugh harder than someone being like "I fucking love this story" because it's so intense and I feel it. I can feel the love.

Guest 3: kjdfjskljdLJS I hope this chapter didn't blow your mind too with the ending because how can you come back from that?

Anavy Jacobs: c: Back at it again with the update.

Lt-SporK89: I bet you didn't think the wait was going to amount to this.

Guest 4: Woop! Woop! I have updated.

Guest 5: Thank you and here it is. Here. It. Is.

Kelly: Wow! It has been so long and don't worry! I definitely know how you feel because wow, I just started reading other fiction again because I either had to write my own or was too busy ( and sick as a while ago ). I am glad your free. You're now free as the free folk. I send you all the good vibes because job searching is hard and being an adult is even harder. I'm trying to make this fanfiction brighter than my future rn lol.

I can't believe it myself that I just about caught up just in time. I didn't think it would happen, but here I am. I'm practically on the journey with everyone with this fanfic and it's going to be a hell of a ride, that's for sure. I bet you and I share the same theories because I had this theory for a long time coming who gonna get under the furs with our favorite Snow. I wish she could randomly appear and just take him away, but alas, that show would've killed her a long time ago.

Most definitely. Things have been insanely good as of late. I'm free of sickness and now I have a new season to dissect, write, and look forward to and probably cry in anguish about.

Guest 6: I'm dying at bipity bopity back the fuck up. I think I know who this reviewer is and I am so happy to see you back again! That's true. Ramsay having them is worse than threatening. But you still don't know who it is or even considered him important, so that means I did well with the allure of mystery.


	26. Chapter 25: A Tale Not Yet Finished

**AZA**

Fingernails dug deep into the sleeves of her doublet, desperately trying to get a grasp on her. The struggle only coerced Aza to apply more pressure at the ghastly white throat slotted in-between her gloved hands. The woman's face was a painful, suffering red, almost rivaling the crimson that was her hair. It was so easy, so tantalizingly close, to kill this woman and yet something in the back of her mind nagged her not to. Every time Aza was tempted to end Melisandre, a voice calm and disembodied always commanded her not to.

"You knew," Aza loosened her hold enough so that Melisandre could speak. All she was given sputtering since the woman needed to desperately regain air in her lungs. Aza hadn't cared enough about that, she _demanded_ an explanation. She needed to hear what kind of excuse Melisandre could conjure up this time or would the 'Lord of Light' take the fault for all of this? "You knew and you said _nothing_!"

Melisandre continued to keep her back pressed against the stone wall she had been thrashed against. Her hands had lost their grip on Aza's sleeves, having falling to her sides since they couldn't assuage her bruised neck for it was still caged. Shaky breaths continued on for a few minutes more before Melisandre felt satisfied enough to talk. "And what would you have done differently?" Aza's mouth quickly opened to combat the woman's words yet no words would take flight. The Islander's fingers twitched, ready to strangle the woman again despite the fact she was at a loss for words from what she knew to be the truth. "If I had told you of the child, would you have sat and waited for Jon Snow's return? Would you have obeyed and left with Stannis?"

Her breath was caught in her chest, her eyes beginning to widen. Once the woman observed the astonishment that devoured Aza's features, a small but smug smile played about her lips. "You would've poisoned yourself for him," Melisandre stated, her voice crystal clear and having the impact of further proving that her words were nothing less than true. No vision in the fire was needed as proof enough. Aza would've done what she very well assumed.

"That is _my_ choice to make!" Aza's voice raised an octave, her eyes prickling with tears of fury. Although were they only out of fury? If she delved deep enough in her storm of emotions, she might've found an ocean of guilt underneath the surface. After all, how could she not feel guilt over the fact that she would've chosen to sacrifice her own child? Who was to say if Jon would've lived had she not been at his side? She had no way of knowing and she would've never decide to sit idly around to find out either. "You took my choice away from me."

"It was never _your_ choice," the Priestess argued.

The answer was of no real surprise. In fact, Aza couldn't find herself becoming vexed upon the indication of R'hllor from His devoted priestess. Everything this woman said and did was tied to the Red God. All this chaos that befell her from Stannis' arrival at Castle Black was all woven to this being Melisandre kept faith to. "I want you to leave," Aza commanded in a leveled voice, her composure fully regained. Her arms fell listlessly at her sides as she continued to hold the woman's gaze. "You will leave Winterfell and never return again. If you so much as show yourself before me, I will kill you and that is no threat. It's a _promise_."

Melisandre seemed as though as she hadn't really expected these turn of events. Although she did well to mask her surprise, it was all but evident in her eyes that she didn't think she would be made to leave. What else had she expected, Aza wondered. Did she think Aza would take this all so cavalier? "You will need me in the days to come and you know it," Melisandre insisted.

There was a chance that what she said was true. In the days to come, she might be needed, but if such a thing were true then it would happen naturally, wouldn't it? Even so, no god believed to be real or not, was going to decide anything for Aza without her having a say about it. "That may be true," Aza conceded, her eyes still carved with untamed anger that sought some form of release. If she had not been with child, Aza might've stomped her way to the courtyard and release all her stress on a few hapless men. "But I am doing you a kindness by sparing your life, Melisandre. What do you think will happen if Jon becomes aware that you knowingly put his child in danger?" The Priestess soon averted her eyes, the revelation of her actions couldn't allow her to summon any excuses. Because she had chose to say nothing for nearly three months, she made herself an enemy once again. There was no one to blame for that other than herself. "He would not hesitate to end you and no one would be able to stop him. Not me, not Davos, and not even your R'hllor."

"You brought him back to me and now that debt has been repaid." It wasn't the lone reason, just one of the many. Of course, Aza would never give Melisandre the satisfaction that she held reservations over ending her by other strange means. "You _will_ leave today."

"And if he asks why I am gone, what will you tell him?" inquired Melisandre. Aza knew Jon would ask why the woman had left or the reason she was sent away. Such a thing wouldn't go unnoticed by him, of that Aza very much knew.

"I will say your god spirited you elsewhere," the Islander answered her swiftly, showing how little thought was needed in such an explanation. It was a good reason as any, wasn't it? And if Jon probed for a deeper explanation, Aza would tell him the truth. She planned to anyway, she just thought it would be wiser to tell him when the woman was long gone.

Quiet surrounded them and it held such a weight that it made Aza's shoulders feel tense from trying to endure it. She would not weaken before Melisandre nor show she had any qualms about her quick decision. There was always a sense of hesitancy about doing anything that regarded life and death, but Aza wanted to be sure of this and if she hesitated for a moment then that meant succumbing to weakness. And Aza never succumbed to weakness willingly.

"I'll be gone by first light." Relief flooded her, though she made no indication that it was what she felt. Part of her almost thought that Melisandre would put up much more of a fight, but perhaps the woman was fully aware that this was a fight she could not win. Aza nodded solemnly, thinking that the sooner Melisandre was gone, the better. Her eyes then followed the priestess as she turned on her heels, ambling her way back towards the chambers she had occupied. The farther she went, the quieter her footfalls became until Aza was left alone in the dark yet torch-lit hall.

Taking a deep breath, Aza had released a much needed exhale before raising her now trembling hand. She smoothed it over her stomach, feeling how the swell was taking shape despite not being all that noticeable yet. Even so, Aza made sure to be gentle, daring not to apply any pressure with the mere press of her palm against it. What was the use seeing as she put this unborn child through hells for the past several months? How it still lived amazed her. It was a stubborn thing, too much like its parents already.

"I have not been good to you, Little Heart." Her voice was soft, whisper-like, as if the child within her womb could somehow hear her and must only be spoken tenderly to.

The world had suddenly turned into a blur. It started with a laugh, having found her sudden change in behavior rather humorous. She never fathomed to have a maternal bone in her body and for her to possess and then to act upon it so naturally? It was almost too funny. Amidst her laughter, a lone tear had rained down her cheek and soon, more came rushing down like waterfalls. Her chin trembled as she brought her hands to her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears as her breathing grew heavier than she thought possible. She was beginning gasp for air that simply wasn't there. Her crying—becoming hysterical as the minutes fled by—was making her throat burn, like she had locked a silent scream at the center of it and it planned to scorch her from the inside for release.

 _Tears solve nothing,_ Aza scolded herself. It may have felt damn good at the moment, but it would not cure her. It would not cure her of the fear she had of the approaching days, knowing a child born in Winter was bound to know strife. This child was lucky in one way, however. Much luckier than she had ever been. At least it would know of both a mother and father, that much was certain. Somehow the thought of giving another life what she and Jon had been deprived of lifted her dampened spirits by a ton.

Forcing out another deep yet rather shaky exhale, she made sure her face was dry. She had to make sure no tear tracks were in sight and straightened her back to stand at full height. Aza had to be strong (or at least look the part) and hurry herself back to Jon's bedchambers before he got there first. The Great Hall was still full of Northern lords and ladies drinking and celebrating him being named king. With quick thinking, she had spoke of early retirement for bed, seeing how as none would find it strange due to her known injuries. Well, no one except for Petyr Baelish, that is. Just the thought that he knew before Jon was more than unsettling, but Aza had danced with him before and knew to choose her steps carefully.

On her way to his chambers, she caught sight of a few servants walking down the hall and seemingly unbusy. Aza raised her hand rather awkwardly, unsure of how to call for their attention. "Pardon?" She had no idea of what she was doing and found that this was possibly going to be the one difficult thing to grow accustomed to. The women stopped, immediately turning to her and bowing their heads once they recognized her. That was even more uncomfortable than trying to obtain their attention. "May I have a bath drawn for me?"

"Of course, milady." Milady? Aza's face scrunched up in confusion. She hadn't understood why they called her that considering she was the lady of no House. She was not yet Jon's wife either, so they could not call her their 'Your Grace' or 'My Queen'. The Summer Islander did her best to try to ignore the upcoming change in station in her life but now it was becoming much too hard to ignore. "Shall we have the tub sent to His Grace's chambers?"

Her face heated considerably. That was wrong, wasn't it? Aza wasn't his wife yet and she had shared his bed with no care whatsoever. That was unbecoming for a queen-to-be, wasn't it? She hadn't thought about that before but now with so many people watching her, judging her? She was beginning to have a mind for how people saw Jon, the King in the North, and now her mind was running rampant over what was considered good decorum.

"A-Aye," she stuttered, biting down on her bottom lip and averting her gaze rather shyly. The servants curtsied and went on their way, now walking with a purpose than they did before she interrupted them. Aza shuffled her feet quickly, wanting to run and hide over what was the most cringe-worthy interaction she ever had since being in Winterfell.

Thank the Seven he hadn't come to bed yet and she was even more grateful to see the direwolf by the hearth. Ghost raised his head and immediately got himself on his paws to trot himself over to her. Kneeling down, she combed her fingers through the wolf's fur and pressed her nose against the long snout of his nose for a nuzzle. "Jon locked you away in here, didn't he? So what if you scare the lords and ladies. They ought to be braver." Ghost said nothing, but she did think he agreed with the way he continued to lean against her face. He soon dipped his head, pressing his wet nose against her stomach. "You knew too, didn't you?"

It explained why the wolf became so affectionate and so attached. Ghost was never cold to her before, he only kept his distance because he knew that's what she wanted. She had grown to love the wolf, slowly but surely, and he now filled a good portion of her heart all on his own. "That's why you're so protective of me, yeah? All for the Little Heart in me." Ghost raised his head and she peered into his red eyes, wondering if he could speak the tongue of man, what would he say? She was only given a low rumble and what was she to make of that?

Gathering herself to her feet, she undid the clasp of her cloak and laid it on the back of the closest chair before unstrapping Flyssa. All she wanted was a warm bath, a cup of wine, and to lay herself down on the featherbed and cuddle against Jon beneath the furs. Since she was with child, that unfortunately meant her wine would have to be exchanged for water or be severely watered down at the very least. Aza stuck out her tongue in disgust, knowing that watered wine was just hell grapes on her palate.

Before she began to strip herself down to her underclothes, the door to the bedchambers opened and she instantly jumped, completely startled. Aza quickly spun around to see Jon, who appeared to be downright exhausted. She imagined he would be. He was just named King in the North, after all. His eyes raised from the floor to meet her gaze and a hint of a smile grew on his lips. It was hard not to pity him; he didn't want to be king. He didn't ask to be. Why would anyone want to be king?

"I think that's the first time I startled you," Jon said as he crossed over the room towards and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Proud, aren't you?" Aza rolled her eyes, a little annoyed that she had her guard down so low.

"A little," he teased. "I thought you I'd find you sleeping. You said you would be going to bed early."

Ah, she forgot about that. Aza quickly looked away, taking a look at Ghost sitting on his haunches as he eyed the two of them curiously. Did he suspect something? Maybe he knew that she had something to hide. He knew of her pregnancy before she did. This wolf probably had foresight. "I decided I wanted a bath before bed," Aza quickly replied. It was true, mostly.

The look on his face had let her know that he accepted her explanation. _For now_. Jon had to at least know that it shouldn't take this long for a servants to ready her a bath, but maybe he would think the celebration in the Great Hall kept them slow. Whatever it was that he was actually thinking, Aza hoped none of it was too suspicious and worked in her favor.

The quick knocks on the door forced them to become alert. "Enter," Jon said without much thought. Aza assumed it to be the servants, and she was glad that it was. The string of women came flooding in; two carried a tub, three others with pails of steaming water, and two more with a tray of soap, oils and other fragrances. None of them bothered to look their way, for they were so set on busying themselves with setting up the bath.

"I don't think I'll ever be used to this," Aza suddenly mumbled.

"Used to what?"

"Servants." He nodded in agree, and Aza supposed it made sense. Once he left for Castle Black, he had to do for himself. She never did ask if he was catered to hand and foot as Ned Stark's bastard in his youth, for how does one pose such a question? She only ever assumed he did. Aza lived her life doing for herself since she watched her mother board the slaveship. It should only be natural that it would take her a long while to stand back and let others do simple tasks for her. Something like this was a thing she would've fussed about at first, but the realization came quick that fussing wouldn't amount to anything since she'll be his wife soon enough. Servants were expected whether she liked it or not as a king's wife.

Once finished, the women filed out silently, and gently closed the door shut. Her eyes lingered to the tub, watching the steam rise lazily and invitingly. Out of the corner of her eyes, Aza noticed Jon's attention hadn't left the bath. "Join me," she demanded instead of requesting. A bath would surely calm his nerves as well. He needed some form of relaxation that didn't involve brooding.

"What?" he uttered, the dazed look in his eyes dissipated so he could focus on her.

"Join me in the water, Jon."

"No." His answer came out much more swiftly than expected. Aza gave him a inquisitive look, flat-out dejected that he declined. "You have those flowers in the bath, don't you?" Aza slowly chewed at her bottom lip, eyes nearly tearing as she found his reasonings amusing. He didn't look too fond that she found this funny, which was usually if not always the case of everything she found to be funny. It often tended to be at his expense. "Next time," he promised. "When you don't have all those scents in the water." Ignoring him and his fragile masculinity, Aza undid the clasp of his cloak. His hands shot up and gripped her wrists, lightly but with enough pressure to assure her that he had his reservations about bathing in scented water. "Aza," he said her name chidingly.

"I want to bathe with you," she insisted with a pout. "We've never had a bath together." Aza wasn't sure why such a thing appealed to her. Was it strange? Uncommon? Maybe it was. She never heard of such a thing before, though that didn't mean it never happened.

He loosened his hold on her wrists, his wine-scented breath ghosting the skin of her cheeks. And just like that, his arms fell to his sides in defeat. Aza grinned triumphantly as she undid the fastenings of his leather brigandine. Clothing after clothing spilled haphazardly onto the floor until the both of them were completely bare and settled in the warm water of the bath. Aza's eyes crinkled with mirth, enjoying the feel of all the muscles that were taut knots gradually loosen. She then glanced at the water, strewn with petals of some roses Rickon told her little about the other day.

"You've forced me into this bath all so you can sit so far away from me?" It's strange, how nice it is to hear Jon complain over a matter so small. Her heart sings a little to know that they can have problems that don't fixate on life and death. What she loved even more was the way her toes curl when he's aggravated with her. The way his face twinges with vexation, how his gentle nature melts away to bring forth the aggressive side of him that he tried his best to tame. "Come here."

"No," Aza replied in false stubbornness, mindlessly playing with the blue petals of winter roses that seemed to grate Jon's nerves every time they so much as brushed against his skin. "Not until you apologize."

"Apologize?" echoed Jon. "I'm in the bath with you. What more do you want?" Despite the confusion on his face, there's laughter in his voice. He knew better than to take her seriously.

"We almost didn't bathe together because of _you_ ," Aza pointed out. "Now you suddenly want to hold me? As if you have the ri—" She yelped as he grabbed her arm, pulling her flushed against him and carelessly making water spill over the rim of the tub and onto the floor. She didn't put up a fight like she could have, and it was mainly because she had no intentions to. With a smile, Aza settled against Jon, delighted that nothing was between them.

"The water could be warmer," he murmured against the crown of her head. Her lover was a grumpy man most times.

"Some of us like to bathe, Jon." The Islander hummed, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. "Not cook." He chuckled at her response as she rested her head against his shoulder. A hand trailed down her back before resting at the base of her spine, nearly bringing her to a full-out shiver despite the warmth of the bath and the heat of Jon's body. Aza suspected that searing hot water may not be good for her condition anyway, but she wouldn't tell him of that just yet.

When would it be the right time, Aza wondered. She would start showing soon and Melisandre and Baelish could lord this truth over her in several devastating ways. Melisandre said she would leave and keeping Aza's pregnancy a secret kept the woman alive. Baelish, however, might try to twist this in his favor and although she was confident she could outsmart him, Littlefinger was still dangerously clever. He's not someone you could easily trap or keep silent. Favor for favor is how it usually worked with him, and what he could possibly ask for might be far too much to give.

"Davos believes we should marry within a fortnight." Aza stiffened before moving, pushing herself away from him so she could see him properly.

"Within a fortnight?" That was a bit… hasty.

"Robb died without a heir," Aza frowned at the mention of his eldest brother. She knew Jon would rather speak about the past when his brother was happy and alive than of the tragedy that became Robb when he became king. She adored the smile Jon could conjure when he spoke of his most fondest memories. It was the most innocent thing she had ever laid eyes on.

"Rickon could be your heir. Sansa could be your heir. You are not without an option of a heir." The thought of her child being a crown prince or princess made her uneasy. She didn't want Jon to be king, she didn't want to be queen, and she surely didn't want this child quickening within her to be the future King or Queen in the North. She wanted them crownless and happy.

Right away, she knew he sensed her reluctance over the matter. "And they can be until we have a child of our own," he quietly said. "That's how it's supposed to be unless…" Drawing his brows together, he sat up straighter, showing how serious this conversation would continue to be. Aza didn't want to talk about this, at least not right now, but Jon was past the point of letting this go. "Do you not want children, Aza?"

"I…" Aza never did desire to have children before, that much was true. She also never thought of marriage either. All Aza once wanted was a life of luxury, of just being in her company of sellswords and spending her coins; a life where she would never know struggle ever again. But ever since she met Jon, all her desires had changed. All her thoughts of the days ahead took a life on their own. The changes were scary, at first, but they soon became all she could ever want. Motherhood still remained to be very frightening for her. She accepted it, even found joy and already felt love towards the life growing inside her, but it still terrified the wits out of her. Aza was nothing like her own mother, who she thought to be the greatest mother a child could've ever had. And now to be the mother _and_ queen? It was far too overwhelming.

"Aza?" His hands were now cupping both sides of her face. With gentle swiped of the pads of his thumbs, Jon wiped away the tears she didn't even realized she had let slip.

"I'm sorry." She felt overwhelmed with emotion and it was welling up in her throat. Aza swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of it with a light shake of her head. Tilting the corners of her lips upward, she hoped the sight of a smile would help lessen his worry. "I had never thought of having children before. I never thought myself good enough to be someone's mother." That's the root of it, that she wouldn't be good enough. How could she even attempt to be after the danger she already put this unborn child through? Her heart sunk at the thought that this little one's death would have ultimately been her fault. It was not Melisandre's for keeping to silence. It was all Aza's own fault for not realizing what was happening to her own body.

"And now your King in the North," Aza continued, barely speaking. She was practically murmuring now. His one simple question had created a maelstrom of all her worse fears come to life inside her head. "What if I am to lose you again and forever this time? I've seen what life was like without you, Jon. It may have only been a few hours but it felt like a lifetime to me. I don't want to live through that again." Her teeth sunk down hard on her wobbling bottom lip. It annoyed her, how worked up she easily made herself become. It was ever the sensitive memory, his death. It remained raw; a wound never meant to heal. "Don't expect me to go on with my life after that. It's too cruel, you know."

Regret swept across his face. It wasn't her intention to hurt him, to make himself feel at fault for his death. It wasn't his fault. He didn't ask to die. His fingers began to tangle themselves in her wet and coiled hair as he leaned forward to kiss her deeply and thoroughly. "You won't have to," Jon said once he pulled away, whispering against her lips. "If you had a piece of me, a child we made together, it would be easier."

How could he say that? How could he openly suggest for her to become like her mother? Raising a child all on her own and so stricken with grief that it severely pained her to even mention her child's father whenever they asked. Because Jon is all logic where she is all emotion, she reminded herself. She tended to forget that very fact. "I don't want a piece of you, Jon. I want _all_ of you." Jon kissed her again, this time on her forehead. Part of her prayed that she would never know what it is like to have him taken away from her for a second time. She couldn't live through that again. Couldn't was too weak of a word, she realized. Aza _wouldn't_ live through that again, Seven or R'hllor or Old Gods be damned.

 **JON**

The back of his hand laid against her forehead, and the result made Jon's lips tug down into a deep frown. "You're warm," he said with worry. "Warmer than you should be."

It wasn't so much of the fever that made him concerned. During the very early hours of morning, Aza snuck herself out of bed. She, of all people, had woke before him. Most would think nothing of it unless they had known her. Aza _never_ woke at these hours, she deemed them ungodly, and someone had to practically scream or shake her awake for her to be a functioning person. Sometimes even that wasn't good enough to rouse her from sleep. If things went her way, she'd sleep all morning and wake at the taste of afternoon.

His brows knitted together at the sight of the smile on her face. It was faint and her eyes no longer held a rather wistful look about them. She had seemed better last night and continued to be in healthier spirits today with the way the warm color of her skin was returning vibrantly. Still it was strange enough that she had decided to rest on her own last night until she thought of a bath. How could she possibly be agreeable when it was within her nature was to be bull-headed? He couldn't keep her in bed before and now she suddenly went willingly and even took the caution to sit whenever she so much as felt the faintest spell of dizziness. One minute she was argumentative and then the next she was agreeable. His lover was always so frustrating and lovable all at once, though Jon suspected there was something she wasn't telling him. He had that suspicion for a few days now.

"The lady is fine, Your Grace." Maester Emery had left Winterfell, going back to Bear Island where he belonged, and now it was Maester Wolkan that would be Winterfell's one and only maester. Although he had served the Boltons, it was Sansa that strongly requested he be kept. She said he was a good man, who only had abide the orders of his lord and had been good to her. Wolkan proved himself well thus far. He was diligent in picking up where Emery left off with Aza's care and the results were great seeing as Aza suddenly had a mind for her health.

"That's what I've been saying," Aza mumbled indignantly, rolling her eyes. She absently combed her fingers through Ghost's fur, doing her best to keep the calming repetition. Ghost laid his head against her thigh as she petted him, taking his comfort in being with her than elsewhere.

Jon had frowned at the implication that he was agonizing over her. _He was_. He just didn't want to appear overbearing or at least be to the point where he was seeing things that weren't there. "She has been through much and all she needs is to take things slowly. There is nothing to fear." Wolkan sounded sure and there was even a small hint of a smile on his face to further push that his diagnosis was the truth. Who was Jon to argue with him? Wolkan knew more of health and medicine than he ever could. Not even his lessons with Maester Luwin could give him a fraction of insight of what this man had studied and was trained to do and know.

His hand fell to his knee, seeing as his concern for her temperature was put to rest. "Thank you, Maester Wolkan." Briefly turning to look at the Maester, the man bowed his head before taking his leave, his feet shuffling towards the door as the jingle of his large chain sadly reminded Jon of both Luwin and Aemon. "Are you well enough to attend the conference?" If she was not up for it, Jon wouldn't be disappointed. He could always brief her about it afterwards.

"I'm well enough to go," Aza answered with certainty.

"Will you sit at the high table this time?" Jon hadn't liked her hiding in the dark corner of the Great Hall. It was even worse that he caught sight of what looked to be a conversation between her and Baelish. He kept quiet, wanting to see if Aza would approach him about what the man had said to her that day to leave her so wide-eyed and lacking color. Part of him wanted to march over and thrash Baelish, but neither was that the right time nor the place. Jon couldn't look so emotional and foolish among the bannerman over the slightest bit of discomfort.

Aza eyed him for a moment before arching a brow. "Don't want me standing too close to Lord Baelish, is that it?" Was it really that obvious? Should it matter that it was?

"I don't trust him." Jon began to grind his teeth, shoving away that needle-like feeling of distrust that he instantly felt whenever Petyr skimmed his thoughts or was unfortunately around. Worse enough the man wouldn't leave, and now both Sansa and Aza were tied to him in some way that Jon knew nothing about.

"Baelish and I have crossed paths plenty of times." That hadn't surprised him, at least not much. "He and I have exchanged coins for information and sometimes for a life." Her eyes met his but Jon couldn't read much of what she was feeling at the moment. It used to be pride that swelled within her eyes whenever she spoke of her days as a sellsword, but now… Now there was a sense of remorse. Jon had known there was some things she wished she had never done and other times, he knew she thought that what she did was right at the time. Survival wasn't always done with clean hands. "I learned to never trust him then and I still don't trust him now."

He didn't want to speak more about Baelish and because she likely felt the same, Aza got from out of the bed. Ghost raised his head, observing her carefully as Jon did the same, watching as she pulled out her clothes and his from the wardrobe. Was it silly to feel content in watching her do something so simple as that? How in the mornings and evenings, they could bathe and dress together and it was considered nothing but normal? He stood to his feet, changing from his light sleeping trousers to his dark leather breeches. When he readied to fasten his brigandine, his hands were quickly slapped away and Aza clutched the ties. "I can dress myself," Jon told her rather teasingly, not truly upset about her wanting to dress him.

"I know." Aza playfully sneered at him. He draped his heavy cloak over his shoulders, just to have a pair of hands smooth it down at the shoulders.

Today, for some reason or another, she decided to wear a dress. He watched as she slipped the woolen garment, the one Sansa had made for her, over a sheer shift. She looked oddly comfortable despite dresses never being her first choice of clothing, but it was likely that she was getting used to them. Once she smoothed down the skirts, Jon busied himself with tying up the laces since her back was facing him. Aza glanced at him from over her shoulder, a bit surprised but saying nothing.

They left together, heading towards the Great Hall in a leisure pace. There was nothing to look forward to since this meeting would be about how they would go about accumulating dragonglass. The White Walkers were his main priority, he couldn't think of what was going on anywhere else when the North was in immediate danger. The politics or chaos of the rest of Westeros was nowhere present on his mind. Aza didn't seem all too excited about this meeting either. Her face remained impassive as the doors were opened for them and they walked inside the hall where just about everyone was talking amongst themselves, patiently awaiting for their arrival.

Aza sat to his right, taking the spot Rickon occupied the last time. His little brother willingly gave up the seat without a word, having seemed happier that Aza was sitting with them. Rickon casually leaned in and whispered a few words behind his hand that made her snicker. The high table had everyone he needed: Sansa, Davos, Rickon, and Aza. The four people he could trust wholeheartedly; the members of his council. Just the four of them brought him a sense of calm that he needed before this meeting could properly begin.

 **AZA**

It was uncomfortable, the amount of eyes that would so rudely stare and then quickly turn away when she caught them. Aza supposed it may take a little longer for her to stop being the center of attention. She loathed it, especially since there were too many mixed emotions on their faces. It was easy to tell who was uncomfortable because she was foreign and others that were generally curious of her because she had yet to formally acquaint herself with many of them. Since she would soon be queen, Aza would have to speak some of them for the sake of Jon and the North. They would become her people and a queen must know her men, women, and country.

"I want every Northern maester to scour their records for any mention of dragonglass. Dragonglass kills White Walkers. It's more valuable to us now than gold," Jon explained while standing, making sure every man, woman and child could see how significant it was that they get their hands on this rare obsidian. "We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons from it. Everyone aged ten to sixty will drill daily with spears, pikes, bow and arrow."

"It's about time we taught these boys of Summer how to fight," Robett Glover joyfully japed.

Many of the men joined together in laughter, finding humor at what would be difficult training for those much too green. Aza felt immensely sorry for them, now more than she had before the Battle for Winterfell. Some of them could barely fight a man and now they must go against White Walkers? She barely fought one on her own. Not to mention the entirety of this lot had no experience with Wights either. "Not just the boys," Jon had cut in the chorus of laughter, sounding just as grim as he looked. Aza smirked at the sudden shift in atmosphere. The expressions that came across many of the men's faces and the look of surprise that grew on the women's was outright memorable for none had expected Jon to demand such a thing. "We can't defend the North if only half the population is fighting."

Lord Glover immediately got himself onto his feet, opposing what was the most rational idea. "You expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter's hand?" It was clear he was offended. It reminded Aza why she couldn't really love much of the North because there were men like him that rather their women be defenseless when the option of being able to hold their own was available. A spear in his granddaughter's hands could save many of lives, if given a chance.

Lyanna, however, quickly left her bench. Judging from the expression she wore, Aza knew she had not taken Lord Glover's words kindly. "I don't plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me. I might be small, Lord Glover, and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you."

"Indeed you are, My Lady. No one has questioned—" Robett was stunned, and he wasn't given the chance to defend himself for Lyanna was none to willing to hear more of what he had to say.

"And I don't need _your_ permission to defend the North," she said with a sneer. Lyanna soon softened her gaze once she turned to face Jon. "We'll begin training every man, woman, boy _and_ girl on Bear Island," she emphasized, giving every lord that looked at her with a hard stare to dare them to speak against her. Aza heard Rickon loudly snort to her right. She couldn't tell if that was a sign that he was impressed or not. "Would it be too imposing if we asked Lady Aza to oversee the training?" Lyanna then asked, her eyes now locked on Aza's own. "After witnessing how you trained the men before the Battle for Winterfell, I'd like for you to make sure my men and women are properly prepared. You were also there at Hardhome and know how to fight the threat greater than any of us."

Not having foresaw that to be asked of her, Aza's lips slightly parted before she briefly shared a look with Jon. All he had given her a nod, a silent way of saying that it was up to her to decide. How could she say yes to this? She was with child and the training she gave was always hands-on. There was no sitting back with her, and she couldn't afford any more risks. "I have yet to fully heal," Aza kept a neutral expression, doing her very best not to wring her hands under the table out of nervousness. "Rickon would do well to oversee such training in my place. He is well versed with the sword and bow, and knows of the spear as well. He was also there at Hardhome and killed a White Walker by himself. He saved me, actually."

Murmurs began, talks of how a boy of Rickon's age had managed to fight and kill a White Walker on his own and live. The boy stiffened, blue eyes big and staring up at her in shock. "You want _me_ to train them?" he whispered, much too surprised that she chose him out of all people.

Aza nodded, more than sure of her decision. "Aye." She did her best not to touch him, to give him an affectionate rub to his head to convince him that he was good enough. He was a man now, and he very much disliked when babied. It also wouldn't be so kind of her to behave like that before an audience. "As I said, you have killed a White Walker. Who would be better than you?"

Lyanna eyed Rickon patiently, awaiting his answer. Rickon stood from his chair, his small but growing shoulders squared as he met the eyes of the Lady of Bear Island. "I will oversee the training in Aza's place."

Once he agreed, the men began to pound the tables with their fists and horns of ale, shouts of agreement were also given by the majority. For a moment, Aza had thought she was back in Castle Black and such a memory made her feel… strange. The warmth of familiarity was there yet had been overshadowed by all the pain from the memories that came along with it.

Now that it was declared that both men and women would fight, the Great Hall quieted down so that Jon could continue. "While we're preparing for attack, we need to shore up our defenses. The only thing standing between us and the Army of the Dead is the Wall and the Wall hasn't been properly manned in centuries. I'm not the king of the Free Folk." Aza slowly smiled at the sight of Tormund, who turned in his seat to look up at Jon. "But if we're going to survive this Winter together…"

That was enough to let Tormund piece together what Jon was asking of him. With a grunt, Tormund got up, his bearings ever proud. "You want us to man the castles for you?" he questioned. That was enough to get the Northern lords speaking under their breaths, not so pleased to have the castle that was supposed to keep Wildlings out now under their protection.

Aza, however, found it strangely funny how Tormund once questioned her how many men protected the castles and now he would be one of them. What an odd turn of events. "Last time we saw the Night King was at Hardhome. The closest castle to Hardhome is Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." It did trouble her to have Tormund so close to the Night King's army. She didn't like the idea of openly putting him close to danger although she knew he was the only one fit for this important task.

"Then that's where I'll go," Tormund agreed without dispute. A grin then broke out on his face as he surveyed everyone in the hall. "Looks like we're the Night's Watch now."

Aza swallowed her laugh. Rickon hadn't, however.

"If they breach the Wall, the first two castles in their path are Last Hearth and Karhold." _Harald Karstark_ , she thought bitterly. She felt herself becoming ill as a quick flash of that bastard's fist meeting her gut came to mind. Her hand protectively went to her stomach, knowing she could've very well lost the child within her because of that fight she engaged in alone.

Yohn Royce left his seat to speak, bringing up a rather valid point that had been overlooked. "The Umbers and the Karstarks betrayed the North. Their castles should be torn down with not a stone left standing."

Sansa, for the first time since the meeting began, spoke; "The castles committed no crimes and we need every fortress we have for the war to come. We should give the Last Hearth and Karhold to new families, loyal families, who supported us against Ramsay."

"Aye," filled the hall unanimously. It was almost difficult to pinpoint those that had not agreed.

Lord Royce sat, satisfied with Sansa's input to his suggestion. Jon, however, openly and quickly disagreed. "The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centuries. They've kept faith for generation after generation." Surprised, Aza shared Sansa's look of disbelief.

Jon was compassionate, always had been since she first met him, but Aza didn't expect for him to bring forth his compassion right now. How could he feel any for those that outwardly meant to kill them without a second thought? They nearly died because of the Umbers and Karstarks. Had it not been the Knights of the Vale coming to their rescue at the hauntingly last second, they wouldn't very well be here. "And then they broke faith," Sansa reminded him.

"I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons," Jon argued, unable to be moved from his standing on this matter.

Aza tried to control her expression, trying to find the sense in what Jon was conveying. She resented the Umbers and the Karstarks, and that was mostly due to Harald and Smalljon's actions. Was she so petty to let the actions of those two color their entire families? Their families shouldn't have to pay the price for their crimes. Smalljon and Harald were their lords, their blood, and they followed them because it was expected of them. Sansa hadn't came to that same conclusion, for she was unable to be persuaded. Neither did she plan to go about her disagreement quietly. "So there's no punishment for treason and no reward for loyalty?" she questioned him, having not a care that they were presenting discord in front of their bannermen and women.

The hall in its entirety had fell completely silent.

"The punishment for treason is death. Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle. Harald Karstark _died_ on the field of battle," Jon pointed out. It was clear that he was put off that he had to explain himself. From his perspective, this was probably something he shouldn't have to tell Sansa or the rest of them. The principal of the matter was plain for all to see.

"They died fighting for Ramsay. Give the castles to the families of the men who died fighting for _you_." Many of them agreed with Sansa, from the increasingly loud talks and the pounding of the tables, it was clear who they all sided with. It shouldn't have to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They all should be on the same side.

"When I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch I executed men who betrayed me," Jon quieted them down as he spoke, grabbing all of their attention. "I executed men who refused to follow orders. My father always said, _"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,"_ and I have tried to live by those words." She remembered him informing her of that back when they disagreed over Rickon witnessing Janos Slynt's beheading. Their way is the old way, he had said to her. "But I will not punish a son for his father's sins, and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is _my_ decision, and _my_ decision is final."

Jon turned his head to look down at Sansa, his brows furrowed and eyes hardened to show he would not relent. In a way, it was him saying he was _the_ _king_ , and he will not be undermined in his ruling. Such a look was odd on Jon's face, though she understood it. If he was king then his authority could not be questioned in front of his men. Nobody wants a weak-willed king, for a weak-willed king was no king at all.

"Ned Umber," Jon called once he looked away from his sister, addressing the Great Hall once again. "Alys Karstark." Both lord and lady were young; the girl was much nearer in age as Aza and Jon while the boy looked to be if not the same or a few years older than Rickon. Ned and Alys walked down the middle of the hall as they were beckoned to, slowly coming to approach the high table. "For centuries, our families fought side by side on the battlefield. I ask you to pledge your loyalty once again to House Stark, to serve as our bannermen and come to our aid whenever called upon."

The both of them withdrew their swords, bending the knee to re-swear the ancestral oaths of their families. Neither one seemed unwilling, much to Aza's surprise. Perhaps it was her paranoia that wondered if either one of them harbored resentment towards Jon for Harald's or Smalljon's death. After all, was it not the deaths of their fathers from Robb's hand and uncle's wedding that led Harald and Smalljon to revolt and join hands with the Boltons in the first place? "Stand," commanded Jon. "Yesterday's wars don't matter anymore. The North needs to band together, all the living north. Will you stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?"

"Now and always!" Both Ned and Alys spoke in unison. It would seem they said their words from the heart, at least Aza hoped so.

With a heavy sigh, she had cast a glance at Sansa from the corner of her eyes to find a very prominent frown. Just the sight of that alone led Aza to believe this would be the first of many disputes between siblings.

 **SANSA**

"He said I was undermining him."

There was no one else to vent her frustrations to. Brienne would've been the wiser and unbiased choice, but Brienne did not know her brother as long or as truly as Aza did. If she wanted insight of what was wrong with how she went about their disagreement then Aza was better to talk to. It also encouraged Sansa to build a bond with her, having felt the desire to once Aza proved herself to be a good confidant. Sansa still felt grateful whenever she thought of how the Summer Islander comforted after she let the hounds devour Ramsay. Her steps forward may have been slow, but she was trying.

The Lady of Winterfell tapped her long, slender fingers against the chalice of wine in her hands. The cup was half empty and she was finding herself becoming less thirsty. She did well not to have too much, not wanting to follow in the plenty of people footsteps when it came to the red drink. Sansa raised her eyes from her reflection in the wine she had been mindlessly staring at and up at her soon-to-be good-sister. Aza busied herself with a book, sitting by the fire with a shawl draped over her shoulders. She almost appeared like a trueborn lady, her hair unbound and neatly brushed as Ghost lied contently on his belly at her feet.

Shaggydog and Ghost constantly reminded Sansa of Lady. The chance to grow as big as the wolves of her brothers had been snatched from her too soon. Sansa could only imagine how big and beautiful her sweet and precious wolf could have grown, if not for Joffrey and Cersei and all their cruelty. The courage to visit her Lady's bones had not come to her yet, but she felt the desire to in light of the struggle. What would she say? It has been so long and all she had were bittersweet dreams and old memories of her wolf.

"You did undermine him." Sansa pulled herself out of her sad thoughts to focus on the conversation at hand. "Men very much dislike to be spoken down to with an audience. If you disagreed with him, as you have the right to, it should've been done in private."

It almost frightened her, how such words awfully reminded her of her mother. Aza wasn't necessarily scolding as her lady mother certainly would have done, she knew that much. All it simply proved was that she had disliked how everything had so far went. "If he's wrong then he should be told of it," argued Sansa, feeling the need to defend herself as well as her actions from earlier. "If you cannot openly disagree with your king then he's no better than a tyrant." Jon was far from showing any signs tyranny. He was a good, kind, and fair king. He was truly good at ruling compared to the kings and queen she has met. To keep him on the right path, should he not be told when he was right and when he was wrong?

"When your brother, Robb, was named King in the North…" Aza lifted her eyes from the book's pages to meet her gaze, the lock of their eyes heavy as a greatsword. "Did Joffrey punish you for all of Robb's actions?" Sansa's eyes quickly lowered, her mind unfortunately recalling memories of how Joffrey ordered Ser Meryn Trant to beat her in the throne room for Robb's victories in the war. It was nearly the same, wasn't it? For when Joffrey punished her for Robb, she wanted to do the same to the Karstarks and Umbers for the actions of Harald and Smalljon.

"I had not thought of it that way," she hated to admit that. What she hated even more was that she had nearly done something in any way similar to that monster Joffrey. She learned a great deal from many of those that harmed her and betrayed her trust, but she no desire to become them in the process.

"I didn't either." Aza smiled some and closed the book, resting it on her lap. Sansa stole a look at the book's cover and was surprised to see it was a tome of House Stark's lineage. "I agreed with you at first. I had even thought Jon to be a madman for a moment."

Sansa felt a little relieved, fully distracted from all thoughts concerning the book. The bannermen and women mostly agreed with her and Aza had, too. That was enough of a comfort that there was good sense in what she had believed was right. "I just want him to listen to me more," she confided. "I can give good counsel."

"I know," said Aza as she placed the tome on the table's surface, no longer having an interest in it. "And I can see Jon has some trouble understanding that. He's very protective of you." And she grew tired of his protection, it was becoming more than overbearing. Sansa could stand on her own two feet, she didn't need nor want Jon coddling her. No one could protect her and she wished her brother would stop trying. He meant well, she knew, but Sansa saw and dealt with enough of the world than to have someone shield her eyes, cover her ears, and spin her stories. Their father had done that plenty, leaving her dangerously unprepared of the monsters of men and women alike. "He doesn't understand all that you've been through and it's because you two don't talk about these things. You have to open up to him, Sansa. You have to _trust_ him."

That was easier said than done. Sansa took a small sip of wine before placing the chalice on the small table. It wasn't that she had not trusted Jon… It was truly hard for her to open up as she deeply wanted to. "How can I trust him when he doesn't trust me?" queried Sansa. "I've tried to warn him about Cersei and he ignored me."

"What about Cersei?" It appeared Aza had not yet been informed.

"She has named herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Sansa answered dryly, the lingering taste of wine on her palate unable to rid the awful taste that filled her mouth whenever she spoke of the Lannister. "She demands Jon to ride for King's Landing and bend the knee lest she declare him a traitor to the crown."

Aza's head fell back as she let out a cackle of laughter. Apparently, Aza believed this to be some sort of a joke. Sansa wanted to find the humor yet couldn't. Cersei with this amount of power was no real laughing matter, even if she was a queen of scattered kingdoms. How Aza managed to find humor in this was somewhat—downright completely—mind boggling. "She wants Jon to come bend the knee and then what?" She brought the back of her finger to her eye, wiping away a tear that pooled at its corner. "The North rejoins the Seven Kingdoms once again, she gets her justice for her son's murder because there's no doubt she'll want your head, and then we all live merrily under her tyranny?"

Baffled, Sansa blinked twice and pondered. Of course, Cersei still believed that she was the one to have poisoned Joffrey, both her and Tyrion. Jon would never give her up to Cersei and Sansa would never go willingly. War was the only option, and it was likely to come to that. "She's in over her big head, yeah?" Aza's laughter hadn't died down much, she remained still very much amused. "I'd like to take her head myself. Queenslayer has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Had Cersei done something to warrant Aza's hatred? To be fair, one didn't have to actually meet Cersei to hate her either. She almost dared to ask, but kept silent on the matter. There was so much to learn about her that Sansa hadn't considered how very little she has come to know of Aza thus far.

"It does," agreed Sansa, a smile stretching across her face. "But she's no one to dismiss. She has managed to murder everyone that has opposed her thus far. She will not stop until she has her way."

"Oh, I'm sure of that." All who knew Cersei were well acquainted with her persistence. Sometimes it was hasty, but it could be slow and patient. After all, she has finally gotten what she has always wanted after so many long years. "If you want me honest, I doubt I can convince Jon to have a care about Cersei. It's the Night King on his mind and it's the Night King that is much more worthy of our attention and fear than Cersei." With a sigh, Aza briefly closed her eyes and settled back in the chair, content yet discontent. "But we cannot afford to be attacked both north and south. I hate that we must think of her."

Glad that Aza could see her way of things, Sansa straightened up in her seat. "Then what should we do? How do we convince him?"

"I don't know," Aza replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Your brother still surprises me sometimes with how stubborn he can be. I can try to talk to him, but I just can't promise you that my words will get through." That was hardly reassuring yet what other option was there? "If there's anything we can do, it is to make sure we're never without news of her. We cannot be surprised about anything." Sansa gave a sure nod, agreeing completely with that notion. She never wanted to be blindsided by Cersei ever again.

The last she had heard about Cersei was her hand in destroying the Sept of Baelor, killing hundreds of people. One of them had been Margaery, and that had made Sansa's heavy and weary heart twice as heavier and wearier. Margaery was sweet and kind, and deserving of being queen. She was once very much like a sister to her, the very kind of sister she had always wanted Arya to be. Now Margaery was dead, reduced to nothing but ashes in the wind by wildfire. Sansa couldn't even bring herself to tears upon the grievous news for she was too shocked and at a loss.

There was some happiness to be felt, however. The Sept of Baelor, the very place where her father's head was taken by Ser Ilyn Payne under Joffrey's command was now no more. It was as gone as the hope in her that was snatched from her on that traumatic day. "Sansa?" Pulling herself out of memories best forgotten, the Lady of Winterfell regained focus and saw the look of worry etch itself on Aza's face. "Are you well?"

"Y-Yes," she hadn't meant to stammer. Now it was all too obvious that she was lying. "I'm well, but it's you I am more concerned about. Why are your wounds healing so slowly? Did Maester Wolkan find anything else wrong?"

All she was given was a shake of a head, and that was hardly telling. Sansa was beginning to wonder if Aza was keeping something from her. "There are plenty of things wrong," Aza cryptically said, "but there is _one_ good thing." Tilting her head to the side, Sansa waited to see if she would be given an explanation. Strangely enough, all she was given was the continuous sound of cold silence despite the sunny smile that shone brightly on Aza's face.

 **JON**

He was doing his absolute best not to fidget. It proved difficult not to, considering Sansa and Rickon were in his chambers and fussing over him in their own way. He wanted to laugh, but the desire to flew straight out the window when Sansa tried to manage his hair and became unexpectedly rough due to her aggravation from her back and forth with Rickon. Her anger made her hand so heavy with the brush that his scalp felt like it was on fire with each stroke. It wasn't until Sansa caught the grimace on his face that she apologized repeatedly and began brushing through his hair gently and evenly.

Today was the day that all of Sansa's perfectionism would be properly acknowledged. For the past fortnight, Sansa worked tirelessly along with Shireen and Val to make this day as special as possible. It wasn't made special for him, considering Sansa was more than aware that he was a traditional lad and a simple Northern wedding would do just fine for him. She made the day more special for Aza, considering she wasn't Westerosi and she was diligent on not letting Aza's foreign customs be ignored. She had Shireen search for any information accessible in their library about the culture of the Summer Isles, and the Baratheon girl hadn't failed them despite the little information that could be found this far north.

It hadn't mattered to her how much Aza and himself repeatedly suggested that a simple wedding would do. Sansa refused to listen and Val backed her argument that a simple wedding wouldn't keep their spirits high. It never even occurred to him that this union was going to be used as a distraction. The event itself would help lessen the worries of the Northern people and to give them something to feel joyous about, if only for a short time. It wasn't just about him and Aza anymore, the North needed something that wasn't dark and dreary or dealt with the matters of life and death.

"Someone has to give her away and I don't see why it can't be me!" Rickon wasn't through with this argument. He was very adamant about being the one to give Aza away considering she had no blood relatives to do so.

"You can't give her away to your own family, Rickon!" Sansa whisper-shouted back. "It makes no sense!"

"It doesn't make sense for it to be Tormund or Ser Davos either, but you suggested them!" Tormund and Davos had both offered despite not being of her blood. Aza said they were both like family to her; uncles, to be specific. She hadn't helped by not choosing, which left Rickon feeling that he was the best and only option.

It saddened him that Bran, Arya, and Robb would not be here to see him get married. It was even worse to think his father wouldn't witness it either. And he knew, for a fact, that Aza felt this same sense of sadness since her mother wouldn't be able to attend. Because of the gloomy feelings conjuring up inside of him, Jon kept himself quiet as he checked the metal fastenings of his formal attire, hoping he polished them well since he did his best to make sure they gleamed. This minuscule once-over as well as their argument diverted him from remotely remembering all the knots he would have to detangle in the Great Hall after they swore the words before the heart tree.

Sansa soon stepped away, admiring her work. He could tell that half his hair was tied back, but when Rickon glanced over him, his angry expression quickly melted away. Jon lifted his eyes from his fastenings to drink in the way they were both staring at him now. A feeling of melancholy was certainly in the air. "What?" he asked, almost afraid of what he must look like. Why would they wear such faces if he hadn't looked foolish or was it something else that plagued them?

His sister smiled some and it didn't feel like she had done it because she wanted to. It felt like she wore it to calm him. "It's just…" she started to say before looking away. "It's just you remind me of father dressed as you are now."

His eyes dropped down to the floor, not quite sure what to say or how to feel. The very man he wanted to emulate and admired all his life, his sister claimed he mirrored. It felt more than good to hear her say that despite the pain that simultaneously flared in his heart.

"I should go," Sansa let out a tired sigh, seemingly already worn out. The ceremony hadn't even began yet, but his sister looked ready to fall into a bed. For a moment, she reminded him plenty of her mother when she was readying Winterfell for King Robert's visit; just as tireless, just as making sure everything was perfect. "I want to see Aza before I take my place. You two better be in the godswood before I'm there or so help me." Her threat was lighthearted, if you ignored the tone of her voice and the heated look she flashed them. Jon couldn't fight the smile that came across his face as he watched her leave, her black skirts fluttering as she left his chambers in a hurry.

It was just him and Rickon now. His little brother still unhappy about not giving Aza away. He was stewing in his thoughts until he let loose a sigh. "Excited?" he soon asked.

"Aye," Jon answered, his hands feeling the urge to do something although he had nothing to fiddle with. "But I'm nervous, too."

Rickon soon sat up and scooted himself to the very edge of his seat. "Nervous for what? It's just some words." The heaviness of marriage was lost on Rickon, and he supposed that made sense considering his age. It was likely he would be in the same position as Jon one day, and hopefully would be just lucky to marry for love and not obligation.

"It's more than just words," he tried to explain. "It's a promise. A promise you're never meant to break and I have broken a promise to her before."

The room was quiet, mostly because Rickon was soaking in what he was said before he gave a response. Jon still halfway didn't expect for him to understand, and it probably would've been much better if experienced men like Davos and Tormund were with him right now. With a little more thought, it was probably for the best Tormund wasn't with him now. Who knew what would come spewing out of the Wildling's mouth at a time like this.

"It's not possible to keep _every_ promise," Rickon told him after plenty of pondering. "Promises can't always be kept, but so long as you mean them when you speak them and do your best to keep them… That's all that matters." There was truth in his words and it was likely he spoke from experience. How many promises were made to Rickon that he had to find a way to forgive those that hadn't kept them? Jon, however, remained unable to forgive himself for what he had put her through. His death continued to afflict her, a lot more deeply than he could ever understand. It colored her words, hid in her every movement, took a life of its own in her eyes. Aza was never quite the same since that day.

Jon left his seat, making his way towards the looking glass to take a gander at himself. He never bothered to truly care about how he really looked, but he had to have a care right now. He was dressed as a king to be married should be dressed from the looks of it. The leather of his brigandine and trousers were supple, soft to the touch, and embroidered with the sigil of their House by the hand of Sansa. His gorget was heavy of dual direwolves. He even had new boots, sumptuous and warm. Longclaw remained at his hip, sturdy and strong, blending in with his entire due to the fact there was no reason for him to wear any other color a shade lighter than black.

Sansa truly did style his hair in the coiffure of their father, and part of him wished he saw the reflection of the man that they swore to have seen in him. All Jon saw was himself and only himself, and a bit of someone that he can't really recall. "We'd best hurry down," Rickon mumbled as he jumped out of the seat, draping his cloak over his shoulders since they were to head outside. "I think Sansa will really be angry if we're late."

Oh, his sister would scold them, but it wasn't just her wrath he feared. He feared the woman who would be his wife's wrath more. Jon tousled his little brother's hair, who lifted his arms above his head to fight him off as they left his chambers together. "You're the one that's gonna miss out on a good spot if you don't hurry." Just realizing that, Rickon sped down the hall with Shaggydog at his heels.

It wasn't until Jon took his first step outside that he realized that the sun was falling behind the horizon. Scarlet briefly emblazoned the sky before it changed to amethyst and darkened to obsidian. It felt like an auspicious time for a wedding. The short walk to the center of the grove made him feel nervous since the ancient weirwood was growing closer as it loomed over them. The eyes of his bannermen and women hadn't made him feel nervous at all. What made him feel nervous was the weeping eyes of the heart tree. The Old Gods were watching, he could feel it, and what was even stranger was that he swore the weirwood had his brother's face. _Bran_ , he somberly thought. Did his brother always have three eyes?

Both women and men released their breaths long exhalations for reasons unknown to him. Whatever emotion that overwhelmed, he knew well enough that it was Aza that must've provoked such a reaction. Standing beneath the large and swaying white branches of the heart tree, Jon slowly turned around to get an eyeful of his bride as the sound of lutes, pipes, and drums filled the air.

By the breath of the gods, he was managed to be struck once again at how beautiful she is. Jon was trembling, weak-kneed, as her steps were slow and measured while her arm was linked with Davos'. She wore a gown made of lambswool that was dyed a bright shade of yellow and trimmed with lace. The sleeves and bodice had pearls sewn onto them, and on her feet were doeskin slippers. He wondered if Aza cursed about being forced to wear them considering it was for show than to keep her feet warm. He could see Sansa arguing over tradition than practicality, and ultimately winning considering Aza was wearing them.

Her hair was not in a traditional Northern style. On the left side were three tight braids and tied at the ends of them were three different feathers; one was red, another yellow, and third one green. They must've meant something in the Isles. The right side of her hair was in its natural state; curly and wild although much more neater than usual.

For a long, long moment, Jon stared as she and Davos continued to fall in step with one another as he ushered her towards him. The closer she was, the heavier the scent of winter roses became. It enchanted, promised and enticed him, almost causing him to lean forward until he wanted to press himself against her to breathe her deeper into him.

"Who comes?" Jon soon asked once the music died down and he escaped the spell of the perfume. "Who comes before the gods?" He did his best to keep his voice leveled and loud for all to hear.

Davos, with a slight smile, looked away from Aza and at Jon. "Aza of the Isles of Summer comes here to be wed. A woman-grown and flowered, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods." Seaworth inclined his head as he continued. "Who comes to claim her?"

"Me, Jon Snow of House Stark, first of his name, King in the North," he annouced. "I claim her. Who gives her?"

"Davos of House Seaworth, guardian of Aza of the Isles of Summer." Aza shared a smile with Davos and the soft moment was somewhat ruined to the loud and purposeful snort that Tormund expelled. He was still bitter about not being chosen to give her away, and Brienne took it upon herself to elbow his side roughly to punish him for his petty outburst. "Aza of the Isles of Summer, will you take this man?" Davos continued.

"I take this man," she replied softly as she slid her arm from Davos' grasp and reached out for Jon's proffered hand. Intertwining their fingers, he helped eased her down so that the both of them knelt before the heart tree. A few moments were to be spent in silent prayer, but Jon wasn't really sure what to pray for. The Old Gods weren't always kind and nor were they always present when he needed them. Ultimately, Jon truly had all that he needed, though he supposed praying that Aza lived a long life, that he lived long enough to at least have half a head of grey, and that they had healthy children were all the right things to ask.

But instead, he found himself too curious what Aza would ask of them. What was she praying for right now with her eyes closed, her head bowed, and her prayers said all inside her head? Did she pray for common luck? Did she pray for a long life? Did she pray for many children? He still remembered her how explained to him that she didn't trust the gods to listen to her, but did she have more hope in the old ones than the new?

Before he knew it, it was time for them to stand and Aza had her back facing him. Her cloak of feathers that took the place of a maiden's was to be removed and it was Rickon that held the cloak up for him to take and properly drape around her shoulders. He's a bastard and so the bride's cloak is the reverse sigil of his House; a white direwolf against a grey field. He's the white wolf, never once part of the grey pack but for so long as all is well, he'll never be a lone one ever again.

The crowd is rowdy once he gathered her up in his arms to carry her down the aisle of people and to the Great Hall. He's only managed to take one step before two guards came sprinting into the godswood, out of breath and terror written all over their faces. Jon's smile quickly withered, his hands gripping tightly to Aza as he tried to steel himself for whatever news they had come to tell them.

"Your Grace," said the youngest of the two, having trouble regaining his breath from how hard he ran. "There's an army outside of Winterfell."

The air, that was just filled with celebration a mere minutes ago, was now brittle. And for a moment, Jon forgot how to breathe. Sansa immediately came rushing towards his side, Rickon a step behind. "An army? What army?" she immediately questioned.

"We don't know, Lady Stark." The older and heavy-set soldier had raised his hand, revealing a letter clutched within it. "They did give us a message."

Aza patted his shoulder, silently urging him to bring her down to her feet. Jon was all too hesitant to because his first thought that if battle were to break out, he needed to get her to the safest place. It took a moment for rationality to override fear and he stiffly brought her down onto the snow-covered ground.

Jon aimed to take the letter, but the soldier holding it quickly shook his head. "Pardon, Your Grace, but it was said to be given to…" He hesitated, unsure of what to call Aza. It hadn't been made clear to him yet that the two were considered married now. "To _Her_ Grace," he chose to say. Surprised as well as weary, Jon and Aza exchanged a look before the both of them focused back to the letter.

She blinked twice, barely grasping it because she was in a daze. It took a minute for her to gather herself and unroll the parchment, her eyes quickly feasting on its written contents. Jon observed as every muscle in Aza's body looked as if they froze as disbelief awashed her face. The look of her made the anxiety that brewed in the pit of his stomach churn wildly. "What does it say?" inquired Sansa.

Slowly, Aza lifted her eyes from the letter to look up at the both of them. "That they are are my family and they have come to take me home."

 **AZA**

Her hands were becoming clammy and her heart just wouldn't calm itself down. Aza had no idea what was going on and she was more than afraid to find out. Sansa fell in step beside her, her pace just as fast as Aza's while Jon marched in front of them. _There has to be some mistake,_ Aza thought, unsure of how any sort of family other than her mother (or uncle) could come to claim her. She knew next to nothing of her father or his family, his surname never spoken. After twenty odd years, how can any family want her now? Where were they all this time when she needed them? Did they just find out about her? Did they not know of her just as she did not know of them?

Moonlight shone down onto the courtyard, bathing and illuminating them underneath the star-glittered deep velvet of the sky. The northern wind wouldn't let up, like it meant to freeze them down to the bones. Aza clutched the bride's cloak close to her form although it failed to keep her warm, but it was all she had at the moment. They all made their way into the center, bannermen and women alike with soldiers flanking them. Plenty of the lords had quickly armored themselves and brandished their weapons, preparing themselves for a battle if there need be one.

Slewing her eyes to the gate, Aza was overwrought as she observed the Stark soldiers. They stood rigidly, awaiting a signal from their king to either secure the gates or open them. "This could be a trap," Sansa brought up a very reasonable point. "Has anyone seen their banners?"

"Aye, My Lady," Davos answered. "I'm not quite sure of what House they belong to, I'm afraid."

"A few of my men claim they look to be a Dornish House," said Lord Manderly. "I don't believe this to be a ruse."

Aza shifted her attention from the gates and up at Jon. It was ultimately left to him to give the order on what to do. Part of her wanted to beg for him to open the gates while the other wanted him to keep them closed. Just as much as she was struggling on how to feel about the matter, Jon was unsure on what to do from the look on his face. It wasn't until she felt him grip her arm and pull her close to his side that she knew his decision. "Open the gates!" he ordered. These people can claim her and wait outside of Winterfell all night and all day if they wanted. None of that meant she would ever abandon Jon and choose to run off with them. She was his wife now, Queen in the North. Her family, if they even really are her family, don't have the right to take her away.

With bated breath, everyone watched the Stark men fulfill the order. Under the pale moonlight they came pouring in, this small army. There wasn't enough of them to lay a strong enough siege, leading her to believe they truly had no other intentions other than a peaceful way of obtaining her. Their soldiers were donned in purple armor that glistened under the pale moonlight as their banners emblazoned with the sigil of their House waved.

As they took up a good portion of the courtyard, the cavalcade parted like the sea to let two people ride through. Astride a white stallion was a young man with a mop of hair that was a soft color of blond. He had a square jaw that was clean shaven and the horse made him seem twice as tall. If he was Dornish, as the Manderly men assumed them to be, he was very pale. The woman at side was older, possibly in her thirties. Her hair was long and dark, tumbling down her back in large ringlets. She favored the Dornish more than the young man did, although she was quite pale herself.

Aza took a step forward and Jon did not attempt to hold her back as she thought he would. He had every right not to trust this sudden company they had, but it was clear all his trust lied with her. Following her lead, he lengthened his stride to walk alongside her as Sansa trailed behind with Brienne, Davos and Rickon. Everyone's steps were stiff, their hands either hovering over their weapons or hidden in their cloaks.

The young man didn't seem to take offense by their very defensive stances as he climbed off his mount. He seemed to be just as cautious as he helped the older woman down from her horse and onto the snowy courtyard. The both of them shared a few words before coming to meet them halfway. As the distance lessened between them, Aza tried to think of what to say. What in Seven hells _was_ she supposed to say? She was already halfway annoyed they ruined her wedding.

"We've come a long way in search for you," the blond had told her. "We nearly went to Castle Black since we were told you were there until rumors suggested otherwise."

And how would they know any of that? Aza took a step back, far too alarmed that someone must've sent them a great deal of information about her. Who could've possibly done that, she wondered. "I believe it's been years since I last saw you, Lord Edric. You were but a boy and squire no less." It shouldn't have surprised her that Baelish, of all people, knew who the young man was.

"Yes," Edric replied rather cordially. "It was at the Hand's Tourney for Lord Stark, I remember." He had no real warmth for Petyr as many of them here. He then focused his attention back to her, surprise present on his face. "I never thought my cousin, long lost, would be here with the Starks of all people."

Jon took a step forward, half of him shielding her. She peered from his side and up at her cousin, curious if he held any resentment towards the Starks. Everyone knew that it was Ned Stark that had slain Ser Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. It wouldn't be unlikely if Edric had no kind feelings towards them for what happened to his uncle. "But I have no quarrels with the Starks," Edric said with a slight smile. "Lady Arya is a good friend of mine."

"You know my sister?" There was desperation in Jon's voice as his body tensed from the lone sound of Arya's name. His whole body rotated towards Edric, and Aza did not need to see his eyes to know there was yearning in them.

Edric nodded and lowered his head, his eyes looking lost in a memory. "She and I traveled some time together with the Brotherhood until she… left."

"With the Hound, you mean?" Brienne questioned.

"I have no idea who she left with and where she went. I was somewhat hoping to see her here." His disappointment seemed genuine as he swept the courtyard before meeting her gaze again.

"You say you're my family…" His eyes, which were hard to see clearly in the night, appeared to be blue. But upon closer inspection, they were so deep and dark that they almost resembled a shade of purple. "If I am your cousin then my father was your uncle?" Aza soon asked, stepping away from Jon. A lump formed in the middle of her throat and she couldn't find herself able to swallow it down.

"I've never met him," he explained before turning to his— _their_ —aunt, who gave an encouraging nod. "Had it not been for the letter we received, my Aunt Allyria and I would've never known about you."

"We received a letter two months ago…" Allyria trailed, looking over her shoulder and at one of their men. She beckoned him with a single look and he came forward, extending his arm to hand her the letter in question. The Dornish woman took it before presenting it to Aza. "It was written by another's hand, but the words are believed to be your mother's."

"My mother's?" A lump formed in the middle of her throat and she couldn't find herself able to swallow it down. She eyed the letter, noticing the broken wax seal of House Targaryen before she had taken it from the woman's hands.

 _"The dragons have paid their dues to your mother,"_ she remembered the woods witch once telling her. _"She will be given all of what she is owed by them."_

Aza searched, scouring for any hint of familiarity. None of this felt like her mother's words. It sounded too formal and strange, like it all came from a stranger. How was she supposed to identify a woman she had not seen nor spoken to since she was a child through a letter anyway? "She said that all the proof we needed was your sword for it once belonged to your father… My brother."

Flyssa? And how could that be? Her mother claimed it was an ancestral sword from _her_ family, never her father's. It must've been—and she hated to believe that it was—a lie. Aza dropped her arms in astonishment as a sharp stab of hurt twisted her heart. "It would be better if we discussed these matters inside," suggested Sansa, falling right into the role of the Lady of Winterfell. "The two of you must be cold and tired from travel."

"That would be lovely," said Allyria. Aza felt as if she couldn't move until a hand wrapped itself around hers. Startled, Aza gazed at the hand and followed up the arm to meet the blue eyes of Sansa. She wore a reassuring smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze; a silent way of telling her that she was _here_ and not here, but here for _her_. It was strange to have someone other than Jon to lean on and what felt even stranger was that Aza was willing to depend on Sansa with no reservations.

The long walk to the Great Hall was spent in silence. Aza moved stiffly as she lowered herself onto a seat at the high table. She could feel Jon's eyes on her, searching her face to read her current mood. She wasn't sure what her face was giving away (if it was giving away anything at all) because she had no strength to mask much of anything anymore. "You say the proof is her sword?" Jon inquired of their guests.

"Yes," confirmed Allyria. "I am the only one left alive that knows of my brother's swords."

"Podrick?" The squire knew what Jon was asking of him without explanation and with a nod, he left.

It hadn't taken him long and once he returned, Podrick placed Flyssa on the smooth surface of the table before bowing his head and positioning himself back at Brienne's side. The young blond had unstrapped one of the two swords from his belt and placed it right next to Flyssa, giving them a side by side view. Aza struggled to inhale as she unsheathed Flyssa by the quarter and the boy unsheathed the other. The swords were in every way similar, like twins with minor differences. Flyssa's steel was dark due the Valyrian steel, but it was in every way similar to the sword with the blade as pale as milkglass. Dark and light; they were supposed to be together, never apart.

Swallowing hard, Aza numbly shook her head. "That's Dawn, isn't it?" she asked, her voice barely above of a whisper.

Allyria slowly nodded her head. "Dawn and Dusk, the swords of your father, Ser Arthur Dayne; the last Sword of the Morning."

* * *

 **A/N** : Did I really start this chapter like _that_ and end it like this? Yes, yes I did. The mystery of who Aza's dad is, is finally over! GRRM confirmed we're going to learn something not so chivalrous about Arthur, and I think the term he used was "bad" and because I love him... The most terrible thing he did was break some vows, which he did anyway by helping Rhaegar.

These last couple of episodes have been strangely predictable, except for a few things. I wonder if it is because they were reasonable routes to go through or perhaps I'm a bit lucky at guessing a few things. Though I suppose nobody expected a certain singing Lannister soldier Ed Sheeran (his name being Musical Edd really kills me. Is he the polar opposite of Dolorous Edd?). I also did not expect for the the Hound to be seeing shit in the fire. I have a lot of feelings thus far.

Also, as you can see, I don't give a flying crap about the show's timeline. I still keep laughing at the fact that Varys basically teleported from Meereen to Dorne and back to Meereen. Like, the concept of months/years is so fucked on the show (like the mess that was with Tommen's random aging among a few other things) that I'm doing this at my own pace. So, technically, everyone is a year younger than their S7 counterpart. Just letting you all know that if you hadn't noticed. Aza just turned twenty, meaning Jon is turning twenty-one in a matter of months.

100k+ views, 380+ reviews, 400+ faves, and 500+ follows now? I'm so teary-eyed and happy. I never did think this story was going to get this popular and it amazes me everyday from reviews, favorites, and follows. I love seeing my email get filled up. All of you are so amazing.

Amelia: I'm sorry it took me so long to update. Hopefully no more tears. And yes, I want Aza to be of her own person while support Jon. I'm definitely going to give her a lot more of her own storyline that deviates from the show and Jon because this girl is very much her own person and has her own destiny to fulfill.

kate langdon: I didn't know so many people wanted her to be pregnant. And knowing me, I would choose the worst time for her to be. I'm cackling at Papa Jon, I don't think I'm ever not laugh at that.

I think everyone hates Littlefinger (even if I do like him as a villain, I hate him more) and that scene will be used, but how will it go? I can't say. c:

Guest: I know, it's a terrible time. There's so much happening, but I'm keeping that one thing realistic that things like this happen out of nowhere. I think there's plenty enough for her to do without this pregnancy being a severe burden because Aza has a path that doesn't always deal with her fighting her way out of things. She needs to grow in other ways and surely this pregnancy/child is going to do that. But ahhh, thank you!

Pikapyon: Her and Baelish are definitely going to tango in the next chapter. How it's going to go? I can't saaaay.

Guest 2: I love you too! And the caps made me feel your excitement, so never apologize for that.

Kelly: I feel the same way, but I knew that it was only right for this to happen. If she keeps taking the moon tea, she'll likely make herself barren and I promised this story wouldn't be a tragedy, so that's a route I definitely had to not take. Jon Snow is so big on family, like re-reading his chapters in the books make me wanna cry sometime. Give this boy happiness, give him a child. But that's going to be the fun of it. A baby in the middle of all this chaos.

I totally support your decision because there's nothing worse than choosing something that you regret. I wish I could've taken the time to travel, but I finally got that time now and I'm living it up. Is it always cold there? I always wanted to go there and from the part I live in the states, I'm built for cold weather. So it'll probably feel normal to me. Lol.

Those are my feelings exactly. Then again, it's probably going to end bad either way. I think the show might go with GRRM route with the ending being bittersweet.

Serenity10116: I'm sorry I made you wait a month. I took so long with this chapter because I had three different versions of it, and this is what I chose.

lovinurbuks: I'm going to deviate and follow the show. I'm loving S7 so far, but there's plenty of ideas of my own that I want to incorporate so that you're not getting the same thing over and over.

Guest 3: Genius, omg. That's a first. Thank you so much and I think there's TOO much happening for me to ever write a filler chapter these days. I'm so happy I can make your day!

Minstorai: Rickon is going to continuously throw shots whenever he can because there needs to be one smug Stark in this depressing family. akfhlsahflashsd I don't think Aza really paid attention to any other time, but now that she knows Ghost let's on to a lot of things, it just isn't comfortable anymore. Is it the tea or is it something else? I can't say. I'm surprised I guessed right though! You've been with me since the beginning, so I should know!

jessegreen99: If he ever gets the chance to properly find out! There's so much going on and Aza actually cares how she goes about saying it. Ahh, I love Jon's cape, even though it makes me actually sweat seeing him wear in the south.

Guest 4: Thank you!

Aqua Mary: Thank _you_ for reading my story. c:

Last Assassin's Shadow: Thank you! Ah, I'm so happy you fell in love with it. In a day? You have so much more patience than me! I dunno how you managed to do that.

Guest 5: So sorry for the wait!

MadXHatterX94: Thank you! Ooooh, I don't think it's spoiling if I say that's likely.

shy-lady: I'm just seeing this review, and omg I'm teary-eyed. I would love to post this on AO3 considering I can have short stories with these two and it will be all properly organized. I'm just a little bit lazy though and taking my time with doing it. But I agree, their tagging is amazing. I don't see too many Jon x POC-OCs, but I think because it's a bit difficult to considering how do you get them to interact with Jon? The Night's Watch is more diverse in that regard ( in the books than in the show ), so it was easy to incorporate her in Jon's story somewhat. So I can see the difficulty. It's Robb that gets all the Volantenes and Dornish girls. Lol. I just never seen a Summer Islander OC, so i thought it would be nice to make one. I'm with you, right there! There's a lot of negative stereotypes about the Summer Islanders! I can't believe someone else identifies with that because I know I hate people thinking a certain way about me because of them. SKJLAJFLSKJDAS - I'm squealing - and I totally know what you mean by that. I kind of miss writing Stannis a little bit now that you mentioned him. It was fun watching him be curious and annoyed with Aza all at once. I used to update once a week and now it turned into one or twice a month.

There's so many fandoms I like, but none I'm fully knowledgeable in than Game of Thrones. I considered TWD at one time and then laughed when I realized all the seasons I would have to go through.


	27. Chapter 26: Dragonstone

**JON**

This wasn't at all of what he envisioned of their wedding night.

This wedding was supposed to be the opposite of the harshness of Winter; a distraction of what they must prepare for and endure. As the long and tiresome days went on before today, Jon imagined them whiling away the evening swilling Arbor gold. He imagined her to be wearing her dazzling smile that made him blush like a green boy the first time she sent it his way. He imagined her drunk off more than just wine, but off happiness. He imagined the heat that felt like the sun under her skin beneath his cool touch as he took her to bed as her husband and not just her lover. But what he sees and what he has is none of that. The evening was filled with shocking revelations than of celebration. And all that's left of the night is a girl, trembling and curled up into a small ball, with her face buried against Ghost's side by the hearth.

He slowly crossed the threshold, searching for words to say but coming up with nothing. What _could_ he say? What could he do? Would she want anything from him now that she knows that he is the son of the man that had slain her father? The son of the man that probably had no idea that he stole a light out of her mother and led her and her daughter into a life of poverty and separation. Will she resent him now? Will she want to flee to Dorne, to Starfall, and be with the Daynes? Will she no longer want to be his family, abandon him and find comfort in the only blood ties left of the man she never had the chance to know?

 _"Why does my happiness have to die for your sake?"_

That dream—that nightmare is what it truly was—flooded his mind for the first time in years. What he dreamt all those years ago, was it really an ill omen? A warning that if he had pursued her as he did that he would only bring her unhappiness? The sudden realization hit him like a punch to the chest, conjuring up an awful writhing mass of emotions that he can't quite handle nor contain. It left him frozen, unable to take another step forward because he has to question if he has the right to be anywhere near her.

Fate, if one believed it to be true, was cruel.

"Jon?" Her voice was weary. _Broken_. The sound of it alone seemed to shatter his own heart yet it annihilated the spell that kept his feet cemented to spot he was standing in. A warm rush of relief washed over him knowing that she's yearning for him, desiring him to be near. She still wants him. She still loves him. She harbored no anger, no resentment; all his fears had fortunately been for naught. He nearly ran to her as she uncurled and sat herself up, her body slowly turning so that she could face him.

It was almost immediate, the feel of her arms around him as soon he lowered himself to the floor. Once he found a comfortable position to sit in, Jon pulled her into his lap to bury his nose against the scalp of her hair and pressed a hard kiss against the crown of her head. All the tension in her leaked out until she became slump against him. This was what Jon loved most about her. The emotional connection that felt amplified by the physical closeness they sought from one another after their hearts had been wounded. Holding her felt better, made him feel like everything wasn't as dire as it surely was. They could melt into each other, the both of them becoming something that isn't about the outside world anymore. It was just them and only them.

"Am I wrong to hate him?" For a moment, Jon was caught a little off guard by the sudden question. It was a simple question. A question that anyone would think to wonder had they been in her place.

"No," Jon replied, his voice soft and calm. Free of judgement. "It isn't wrong for you to hate him, but I think you should forgive him." There's a part of him that will always resent his own father for not telling him about his mother, but Jon could never let the resentment fester or outweigh the love he had for him. Every day, to battle the resentment, Jon forgave him. It became twice as difficult, to ritually forgive, when his father died. Jon had to struggle with bitter thoughts that shouted at him that he shouldn't keep being so soft-hearted.

"If I forgive him, what about my mother's sadness? What about her chance of happiness that was ruined? What about the sacrifice she ended up making for me just to keep me alive?" Aza pulled away from him, firelight flickering wildly across her face. Her eyes were glassy with tears despite the malice that seared behind them. She once hoped to have just one vision of her father, he remembered. Now she craved answers that a dead man couldn't give. "He abandoned me, Jon. He abandoned my mother when she needed him most, all for Rhaegar Targaryen. He _died_ for him."

He never heard her speak so venomously, that it practically dripped with every coated word. What lied underneath her spite was the child in her whose hopes and dreams of her father had been dashed in one fell swoop. "You don't know what was in his heart, Aza." Jon, himself, had not chosen death for it was given. He can't outright say that Arthur Dayne was in the same position as he once was in, but neither could he say that the man willingly gave up what he loved over loyalty.

Her eyes squeezed shut, shoulders trembling as she balled up her hands tight fists on top of his shoulders. Aza _needed_ to cry it all out, she owed herself some fraction of relief. It was the only way to move forward, to finally let the mystery and the yearning as well as the ice, she felt for her father finally begin to thaw. How she would feel tomorrow or later on, Jon didn't have the slightest idea. All that he was certain of was that it didn't really matter if her father never loved her or not. It didn't matter if Arthur chose duty or loyalty over love and family. Jon loved her, chose her, and would never abandon her.

 **AZA**

Winter tested one's strength. It was such a merciless season and it forced those in the midst of it to build themselves up in order to endure it. Even now, the air felt as cold and as sharp as the edge of a blade. It had all the power to sink itself into your chest every time you breathed the frigid air in. Such a feeling used to tear viciously at her body, but after all the years spent at the Wall and in the Lands of Always Winter, it became to be such a pleasant burn to her now. If she ever lived long enough to see another Summer, would her body be able to withstand the warm rays of sun like it once did?

"Dawn isn't a sword passed down to heirs," Edric explained as they walked alongside each other, Ghost by her side. It was just the three of them, leisurely walking into the godswood since it was the only place Aza could trust a conversation to remain out of the ears of others. "It's given to the knights of our family." His fingers pinched the hood of his cloak tightly over his bright red ears. She figured they were likely screaming in pain from the cold; a pain once familiar to her when she left south and entered the Neck. This weather must be his worse nightmare considering he was born and raised in Dorne, but because he did not once complain, she wondered if his time in the Riverlands made him a bit more resilient. "I always wanted to wield it, but I can never be a knight. I must be the Lord of Starfall."

He was the same age as Sansa and already the lord of a castle after some years being a lord's squire. They were so young and yet they carried their titles and responsibilities so well. "You want _me_ to keep it?" Was that what he was alluding to? If so, Aza wasn't sure how to exactly feel. She already had Flyssa— _Dusk_ , Aza had to continuously remind herself of the sword's true name—but to have Dawn as well? Not only was it overwhelming to know who her father was after twenty long years, she was expected to carry both swords that made him everything that he was?

"It's only fair." Edric's smile was an awkward one, though she couldn't help but to mirror it. "There's a chance that when you have children, one of them will grow be a knight."

 _Not this one,_ she thought as she briefly swept her fingers against the small swell. Her subtle actions hidden from view by the cloak she wore. _This child will have to rule the North._ "Are you sure about this, Edric?" The last thing she wanted was for him to regret this. Not in the slightest did Aza want him to feel obligated to give her Dawn based solely on the fact that it belonged to the man that sired her. Edric was the lord of Starfall and it was tradition for them to declare who was deemed worthy to carry the ancestral greatsword. Aza was no Sword of the Morning nor of the Evening, she was no knight at all. What had she done to deserve it other than be Arthur's only child?

"Call me Ned," he quickly retorted. She arched a brow as she quickly gathered that this was his way of advocating familiarity between them. They were family, so it wasn't too much out of the left field. "But yes, I'm sure of it. And if what all of you are saying about the White Walkers is true then it's only right that you wield it until another Sword of the Morning arises." His hands fiddled to unstrap the sword from his leather belt. Once it was free, he laid the blade on top of his gloved hands and he outstretched his arms to properly gift it to her. The exchange was sudden and truthfully, Aza almost dared to immediately reject it. She wanted to turn away from everything remotely related to Arthur aside from her cousin and aunt.

"I'm not a Dayne," Aza said softly, her arms stiffly remaining at her sides. For all she knew, she was still a bastard. Her mother never gave her the Dayne name and it was likely because she had no right to have it. Not only that, after they learned of who her father was, the bannermen did not know how to exactly treat her going forward. She was half-Dornish, and not many of the Northern lords thought so favorably of them either. Though she suspected she had some of their respect, being that she wasn't a full-fledged foreigner, she heard some men singing the "Dornishman's wife" when they thought she could not hear them.

"Should I have you legitimized?" His tone was joking but Aza could hear the hurt right behind his words. Edric and Allyria saw her as family, as a Dayne, before they even met her and it must seem as if she was turning them away. She wasn't, at least not entirely. "Dorne supports the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen," he went on to say, his feelings hard to read within his tone. "It'll be her I have to ask to give you our name."

"You won't have to, Ned." A smile came across her face as she observed the surprised look he wore. "I choose Snow. It's a bastard name, but it belongs to my husband and now it belongs to me." It didn't matter if Arthur was the deadliest swordsman. It didn't matter if people deemed him the most chivalrous knight to have ever graced the world. She would not take his name over the name of the man she loved. In the same manner Arthur didn't choose her, Aza would not choose him.

Edric nodded, giving her some indication that he understood how she felt. It hadn't stopped him, however, from pressing on in regards to the sword. "Dayne or Snow, you're my blood either way." Her heart warmed and quickened at the fact that Ned felt some form of love her already because they were cousins. He came here with an open heart when he could've not cared about her at all. Because of the purity in his love for family, Aza raised her left hand and inched it towards Dawn's bright and silver handle. But before her gloved fingers could so much as touch it, she dropped her hand and slowly shook her head. "Let me think on it?" was all she could manage to say. Edric did his best to hide his disappointment and settled for a rather absent nod as he returned Dawn into his sword belt.

"Will you fight with us? Against the White Walkers in the Long Night to come?" Aza asked, still curious as to why he did not flinch nor think them all to be touched in the head when she overheard Davos speaking to him about what happened at the Wall when Edric questioned why they had left the Night's Watch. She had hid in an alcove, curious if her cousin would dismiss the White Walkers and the Night King as some scary story told to children. Edric didn't budge whatsoever and claimed to have witnessed stranger things. What strange things could Edric possibly have seen in the South to let him believe in the Night King?

"If the White Walkers are marching south then that makes it my battle, too." That relieved her, if only somewhat. They now had more men in the fight to come, which was better than what they currently had. "Our aunt will have to return to Starfall in my place." That sadly meant she did not have time with Allyria. Aza had hoped to learn more about House Dayne other than her father. Edric was either too young or not yet born to tell her much about the aunt and uncle that died before she could know them. "Our ship will send her back to Dorne and sooner return with weapons and provisions. I'm sure the North doesn't have enough to feed the mouths of both my men _and_ its people."

It was true, unfortunately. The North couldn't farm now that Winter was here and Winterfell's own food storage was not up to the standard they needed it to be. What can be grown and harvested in glass gardens will never be enough for so many people. Because she couldn't be open with what Winterfell lacked with just anyone (not even her own blood), Aza settled with a confirming nod. "Since you're willing, would it be too forward of me to make a request?" Her eyes lowered to the ground in a rather shy manner, her tongue briefly darting out to lick her lips to keep her mouth from watering at the images swirling inside her head.

"A request?" Edric echoed, his falling into a curious tilt.

"I really, _really_ would like some dragon peppers," she admitted before biting the inside of her cheek. It felt all too silly to be asking for something like seasonings of all things. "Oh, and snake venom sauce!" But the mere thought of tasting such spicy flavors again was enough to make her heart sing.

Incredulous, her cousin's mouth fell agape. Laughter then took hold of him, and he laughed even harder when she heaved a heavy sigh and rolled her brown eyes. Was it really all that amusing that she asked for seasonings? All she ever wanted was her food to be flavorful again. "It isn't that funny," she mumbled, an eyebrow faintly twitching.

"Forgive me, I meant no offense." Edric soon calmed, wiping away a tear that pooled at the corner of his eye. "It's just… Those are the very same things I wanted in my time in the Riverlands. The food is so tasteless and boring here." A smile swept across her face as she playfully nudged the boy's side with her elbow, agreeing with him entirely. "If that doesn't prove we're family, I don't know what else will."

"I look forward to getting to know you better, Ned," Aza confessed. "Although I have found a family and a home in Jon and his siblings, it feels good to have some blood of my own around."

Edric rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. His blue eyes were as warm as the smile he wore. "If you should ever need anything, Aza, I'll provide it."

"And the same goes for you." She meant it, truly. And it appeared that Edric felt her conviction since he gave her shoulder another squeeze before bringing his arm back to his side.

The sound of approaching boots crunching right through the snow made the both of them turn in unison. Aza's warm smile quickly withered away as she soaked in the sight of Petyr Baelish. It only seemed fitting that he would invade a rather tender moment between her and her cousin. "Pardon me, Your Grace, Lord Dayne." He bowed his head in a apologetic manner. "If you don't mind, I wish to speak with the Queen alone."

Aza kept her face inscrutable, slewing her eyes away from Petyr to observe Edric. He appeared bereft to leave her, but gave in with a courteous dip of his head and a murmured goodbye before leaving the godswood. She watched him until his figure was out of her line of sight before focusing on Petyr. "Lord Baelish," she addressed him, indicating that he now had her undivided attention.

"You wear the role well, Your Grace." It was supposed to be a compliment, but she hadn't felt the least bit flattered. Aza didn't think anyone making such an observation would sit well with her. "It must be overwhelming to become both Queen in the North as well as a Dayne all in one day."

There was no lie in what he said. It was inundating and it was more than likely that it will always be, but that was beside the point. Petyr didn't bring himself before her to talk about her feelings, he had a purpose for seeking her out. "You did not come all this way to console me." She sauntered towards a moss-covered stone and took a seat, no longer feeling up to standing. "What do you want?"

"I will have you know that your words wound me," Petyr's smile was as sly as ever. "I meant what I said when I believed us to be old friends." Her brow raised, lips ready to part to utter a reply until she noticed he had more to say. "You and I are one in the same." His words were brisk and sure. "I was once a boy from nowhere with nothing to his name. And here I am now, the Lord Protector of the Vale. You, yourself, was once a slip of a girl from the Summer Isles. You became a sellsword as a means for survival and now you help rule the entire northern country." Aza's fingers twitched, halfway tempted to ball them into tight fists from the single step Littlefinger took towards her. "We weren't born with the privileges and the riches of those around us. The only way we could keep our heads above water was by using them."

"I did not _use_ them," Aza stiffly refuted. "I sold my sword to them."

"Using, selling, it's all the same." Unsure of where he was going with this, Aza kept to silence in hope that he would hurry along to his point. "People like us should be working together."

"Working together?" Aza repeated, feigning bemusement. "Are we not working together to prepare ourselves for the Night King?" Petyr gave her a knowing look, one that read that she knew very well of what he wished to covet. Aza was not blind to the way his eyes seemed to follow Sansa and within the depth of his gaze were a great many things. Did he love her? Aza was not sure of the extent of his feelings, but it was naturally difficult for her to believe that Petyr could love anyone who wasn't himself. "I will not give you Sansa," she made clear, leaving no room for argument.

Littlefinger steepled his fingers. "I did not ask for you to give her to me. I'm more than aware that she cannot be given," he said.

"So what is it that you're asking of me?" Aza questioned, her voice remaining leveled despite the annoyance brewing within. "Do you want me to whisper your lies into her ear or do you want me to convince her that you're a good man with the greatest intentions when I know that you're not? She knows you much better than I do and if you cannot convince her any of that yourself then the battle is already lost."

"I've made a mistake that I cannot undo and there is not an hour of every day that I am without regret." Whatever this grievous mistake was, Aza knew nothing about it. She was curious but not curious enough to pry. Sansa kept a great deal of things to herself, out of self-preservation or some other reasons. It didn't matter what the reasons were in the end. Sansa's life was her own and she should live it how she saw fit with the comfort that she had the power to control what it was that people know and didn't know about her. "She has every reason to feel what she does towards me, but I can only promise to do better in protecting her. Did I not prove that when I brought the Knights of the Vale?"

"You've mistaken me, Lord Baelish, for someone that cares about your feelings," she dryly replied. "I care only for my good-sister and I only want what is best for her. You, of all men, will _never_ be what's best for her. If she hasn't forgiven you for whatever it is that you've done then that further proves how undeserving you are." Finished with this conversation, Aza gathered herself to her feet and pulled her cloak closer to her form. She was more than grateful that Val had made this for her from the white furs of a snow-bear as a wedding gift. It was a good weight, long and snug against the biting northern wind.

As she aimed to leave the godswood, Petyr's small frame blocked her path. Her eyes sooner narrowed as he adorned the look of a man with unwanted persistence. "You have yet to tell the King in the North of your pregnancy." She had been waiting for that threat to be used. "I'm sure the last person he should like to hear such pleasant news from is me."

"You are indeed the last person he should like to hear such news from." Aza gave a saccharine smile and it grew wider once the wry smile he wore tugged downwards into a frown. "But if you insist then do me a kindness by informing me how well it goes." He hadn't expected that. He wasn't quick enough to mask his surprise of her goading him to tell Jon. It wasn't what she wanted—it frightened her to all Seven hells to think he actually would—but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction that he could lord something over her. She was no pawn, she was a queen, and he ought to learn that by now.

Petyr suddenly grew rigid, his eyes looking elsewhere and widening with absolute terror. Wedging itself between them now was Ghost, the menacing size of a small horse, with his hackles raised and his muzzle slightly open to bare his sharp canines. He stood low to the ground, shoulder blades protruding to give the impression that he was ready to pounce. That was more than enough to have Petyr take several, shaky steps back and hurriedly dip his head to bid her goodbye. Aza rose a brow, watching as Littlefinger moved swiftly to return to the castle without once looking back.

"You nearly made the man shit himself, Ghost." Her hand reached out to tentatively scratch the direwolf between the ears. "But I suppose that'll be the last time he'll think to corner me." Feeling both triumphant and grateful for Ghost's interference, she felt her spirits lift a little. "You deserve a treat. How about some honeyed chicken? You like that, yeah?" Ghost kept to silence, but the animated movement of his tail was a good enough answer. "I'm feeling a bit peckish myself." Though she couldn't tell if it was her pregnancy that made her so hungry. She once had a large appetite that often had her stealing from the bowls of Edd, Grenn, and Rowan. It waned over the years due to the lack of constant access to food along with poor nutrition. Nowadays, Aza felt like a growing girl all over again that wanted to devour everything in sight.

They bounded away towards the warm and granite walls of Winterfell. The guards stationed opened the doors for them, giving them entry to the entrance hall. "Your Grace," called Maester Wolkan, his hands tucked in his large sleeves as he stood in the middle of the room. He approached her quickly, allowing her time to wonder if he had been waiting a good while for her return. "I've finished gathering all the information you requested."

"Let's discuss this matter in my chambers," Aza replied as she fell in step with him, Ghost remained close. She prayed that whatever Wolkan had found could finally put her heart to ease and all the paranoia that budded within her would finally be ripped out root and stem.

 **JON**

They were only youths—skinny little reeds notching their arrows and drawing back bowstrings. Memories of years ago grew vivid as he watched the lieu of children practicing the bow in Winterfell's courtyard. It filled him with a sense of nostalgia as he remembered his father standing exactly where he stood right now while Robb and himself gave pointers to Bran as he trained. _"Don't think too much, Bran",_ Jon remembered saying. Arya had effortlessly showed Bran up, sending an arrow sailing right into the target, dead center. They laughed plenty that day and it was the same day they brought their direwolves home after his father beheaded a deserter from the Night's Watch.

It was strange to think how afterwards, everything had completely changed. The young deserter's words, mistaken for madness, would later on prove to be terrifyingly true. How different things would have been if they believed him? Jon would've never joined the Watch and likely would've never met Aza until later on in life, if they even crossed paths at all. Would she have been different? Would _he_ have been different? His father would've been the one preparing this fight against the White Walkers with Commander Mormont. He and Robb would've fought side by side like they always pretended with their wooden swords as children. So many things would be different as they are now and would it have been for the better?

"Do you think it's really Tyrion?" Sansa's voice pulled him from the place his mind wandered off to. He turned his head towards her, seeing that she still had the letter they received this morning in her hands. He couldn't fault her for being skeptical, he was too when he first read it. "It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap."

"Read the last bit," suggested Jon.

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes," she repeated, her brows knitting together. She was now more confused and less wary. "What does that mean?"

"It's something he said to me the first night we met." The very same night that Jon was so adamant about following Benjen to the Wall and joining the Night's Watch. "You know him better than any of us. What do you think?"

Sansa took a moment to ponder. "Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters," she soon said, confirming what Jon knew to be true. Jaime Lannister's snide remark was never forgotten nor his actions of maiming his father. And while Jon had no interaction with Cersei at all when he saw her last, he loathed her all the same for all she had done. "He was always kind to me, but it's too great a risk. _"The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny,"._ "

"Sounds like a charmer," Davos commented. "Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied and three dragons, a bit _less_ charming."

If any of that was believed to be true, that is. They had no way of confirming any of it but Tyrion Lannister, from what Jon knew of him during their short time together, would have no reason to lie. He was, after all, the first person to try to tell him the truth about the Night's Watch. He did something Jon's own father didn't even do. Pushing all thoughts of the past aside, Jon noticed that Davos appeared to have something to say. "What?" asked Jon.

"Fire kills Wights, you told me." Davos tilted his head. Jon was more than aware of what he was alluding to. "What breathes fire?"

Sansa caught onto him as well, and wasn't enthused at all. "You're not suggesting Jon meet with her?"

"No, too dangerous," Seaworth quickly dismissed it, even though he was far from done with the matter.

"But?" Jon inquired.

"But if the Army of the Dead makes it past the Wall…" Davos gave him a stern look. "Do we have enough men to fight them?" Dragons, Unsullied, and Dothraki warriors were starting to sound like a dream compared to what they currently had against the Night King's army. The war would certainly be in their favor if they forged such an alliance, but there was still the need of Dragonglass and Jon had no idea where to begin in search for it.

Sansa had let loose a tired sigh as she rolled up the letter. "If it's not one thing, it's another." He had to agree with her. There was so much to do and time felt very, very limited.

"One day we'll worry over lesser things," Davos said to lighten the atmosphere. "That's what I hope for, at the very least." Jon gazed back at the courtyard, his worries still all over his face within the crease of his brow and his frown that was feeling all too permanent. "Though I am curious of what _our_ queen will make of this."

Knowing Aza better than anyone else, he knew she wouldn't be fond of the idea of allying themselves with the Targaryen. She wasn't without reason to be wary, especially now that all the reservations she had for them more than likely transformed into something much fiercer after learning the truth about her father. "I'll speak to her about it," Jon informed them. He had planned to anyway for she was his wife, his queen, she ought to know that Daenerys sought after their support.

"Speaking of our queen, Lord Dayne has promised us food, armor, and weaponry," Sansa announced. Jon hitched a brow, more than taken aback by the sudden news. "He pledges House Dayne's support in the battle against the Night King."

"Provisions and two hundred men? Not enough to even the scale, but that's more than enough to look like we're getting somewhere," Davos commented. "But isn't it known that Dorne has sworn their fealty to Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Due to the deaths of Prince Doran and Prince Trystane, there is a rift between House Martell and many of the other Dornish Houses. Ellaria Sand and her children are all baseborn and declared kinslayers," Sansa explained to them. "It is only because Prince Oberyn was their father that some Houses kept to their oaths, but Lady Allyria has informed me that House Yronwood is rallying many to proclaim them the rightful ruling House of Dorne."

His memory of Dorne's history was less than extensive, but the story of Queen Nymeria of Ny Sar had came to mind. Jon remembered that being Arya's favorite story, and she often pleaded to hear it before bed many of nights. She even named her direwolf after the famed warrior queen. Despite telling the story for what felt like a thousand times, all Jon could scarcely recollect was that House Yronwood was once the most powerful House in Dorne long before Nymeria's arrival. It was when she and her Rhoynar joined their hand with the Martells did she bring them to heel.

"If she is of sound mind, Ellaria should feel slighted that Lord Dayne would rather give his men to the North than to aid her in seating Daenerys on the Iron Throne," Davos gathered.

Sansa gave a shrug of her shoulders, her eyes staring out into the courtyard and at nothing in particular. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't refuse Lord Dayne's offer." She turned to look at Davos before meeting eyes with him. It was almost as if she was questioning if she made the right decision. "We are in need of everything he is willing to provide. I couldn't care if Ellaria would approve of it or not."

"We'd be fools to reject him," Jon said and gave an approving nod. "You did the right thing, Sansa."

Her shoulders slumped after having tensed and a faint smile swept her face. "I suppose you're right." Davos then turned to Sansa, his head humbly bowed. "Should I oversee the provisions and arms that Lord Dayne will be sending?"

"Better you than me," Sansa lightly japed. "I have other things to take care of."

"There is no one more deserving of proper rest than you, My Lady." It was true, unfortunately. Sansa was so very diligent in her duties that Jon hardly ever caught sight of her taking time for herself. She deserved it, time to rest, but he knew better than to be vocal about it. Sansa wouldn't take kindly to him insisting she take the time to spend some hours off her feet. She already berated him enough for coddling her, and he would rather not lead them into another senseless argument.

It was only when Brienne and Podrick had arrived did Sansa take her leave. She informed him that she had to see to the rents and that she would likely be all tied up until late into the evening, possibly missing dinner that they all enjoyed having together. Jon hadn't looked forward much to a family dinner, considering Rickon left to Bear Island at first light. Eating dinner with three of them together both warmed him and wounded him for it felt like they weren't whole yet. It was a feeling he would have to get used to, he knew, but Jon just wasn't ready yet.

"Lady Shireen left with your brother to Bear Island," Davos had casually mentioned, most likely already missing the young Baratheon already. "I suspect she grew tired of a old man's company,"

Chuckling, the King in the North shook his head. "You're the least person I'd imagine she'd grow tired of, Davos." He kept his smile, eyes still scouring the courtyard. "I should be searching for my wife," Jon said. "I haven't seen her once all morning."

"You tend to do that often," his adviser teased. "I should hope that every time you find her, a heir is being made."

He caught what Davos' was implying immediately and reeled himself back. A blush rose beneath his beard, soon coloring the entirety of his face. "The problem isn't making the heir…"

Both of Davos' eyebrows shot upward, his lips pressed thin as the smirk that grew hadn't been so easily smoothed away. "Does the fault lie with you then, Your Grace? Aza is young and despite the battles she's suffered, her health isn't too delicate. I would hate to think her barren." Jon's flush deepened. "I've heard in my youth once that the women of the Summer Isles tend to have many children. They even have a goddess of fertility with sixteen teats that they often pray to."

Davos, more often than not, felt like the fatherly presence that Jon had heavily missed. And as if he truly were his own father, Jon did not want to discuss any of this. He loudly cleared his throat, trying to stamp out the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks. Taking a minute to collect himself, Jon straightened his spine and darted for the nearest path that led him far and away from Davos. He could hear the lord and knight's laughter which only made him pick up the pace.

Working out the stiffness in his muscles, Jon traveled around the castle to take care of menial tasks. It was a means of distraction than of diligence and thoroughness of duty. It hadn't worked, however. The entire time, Jon's thoughts grew louder in their demand for his attention. He loathed to think that Aza was incapable of having children, but what if the lack of a child _was_ his fault? Could his short-lived death have anything to do with it? Unless, the entire time, Aza hadn't once stopped drinking moon tea… It would explain her strange behavior, if that were the case. She didn't seem all that enthused when he mentioned a heir weeks ago.

 _"Rickon could be your heir. Sansa could be your heir. You are not without an option of a heir."_

Her words echoed inside his head, troubling him with same sharpness as the first time she spoke them. She hadn't known, how deeply her words pierced him. But who was to blame? He beared the guilt, only realizing afterwards of how wrong it was to say a child was a better replacement if death should take him again. He should've said them, the words inside his head and heart, of how he never wanted her to be without a family to call her own.

Inside his study now, Jon approached the table-map that now took up a great amount of space. It was better here, in the quiet, where he could think and have no useless distractions. At least, that's what he thought until he heard the door open. Lifting his eyes from the map, Jon watched as Aza entered the room with a little spring to her steps. She was happy, _very_ happy, and for what? He couldn't guess, but Jon would never question her smile if he wished it to stay. "Good news?" inquired Jon as she continued on her path towards him, her hands reaching out to gather his and turn him away from the table-map to face her.

"Good news," she repeated sincerely despite her smile slowly beginning to falter. "But first, there is something I've been meaning to tell you."

And from that choice of words alone, Jon suspected he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear. "I told you that Melisandre left because her god wanted her elsewhere." He had only thought once or twice about the Priestess since she vanished. He wondered where R'hllor could've called her in such a hurry that she didn't even leave him some cryptic farewell. Now it was unease that made a home in the pit of his stomach from the mention of her. "That wasn't entirely true."

Taken aback, Jon's head slightly turned, eyes squinting in confusion and a brow slowly hitching itself upwards. "What do you mean that wasn't entirely true?"

"She left me no choice but to send her away." There was no ounce of remorse to be heard or seen. Her hands held his tightly, almost as if she feared he would withdraw from her. Questions by the numbers were at the tip of his tongue and yet he couldn't give voice to them. He remained still and silent, insanely curious of why Aza wanted the woman gone so badly that she ended up lying. And she lied to him, of all people, as if he wouldn't be understanding about the reasons she wanted Melisandre gone. "If she stayed another day in Winterfell, I would've put an end to her. No one would've been able to stop me from taking her head," said Aza with a taut jaw and a grim stare.

"And what has she done that would make you choose to lie to me?" Her eyes averted, likely from guilt. "What is the reason that you couldn't trust me with the truth until she was nowhere in sight?" In a show of anger over being lied to, he inched back his hands to slip them from her grasp only to feel her grip become iron tight.

"I know it was wrong to lie, even if it was only by the half," Aza weakly admitted. "Secrets tend to fester and we were done with lies, I know, but I—" Her words came to a halt by Wolkan's sudden entrance. He didn't give them time to gather themselves after his short and quick knocks before he barged in. The tension was thick in the air and Jon was sure that the man noticed it, for he appeared unsure to continue to approach them despite the letter in his hand.

"My King, My Queen." Wolkan timidly lowered his head. "Forgive me for interrupting but a raven," he informed them as he proffered Jon the letter, "from the Citadel."

The only person he knew at the Citadel was Sam and if he wrote to him, Jon knew it had to be important. With his hands freed from Aza's grasp, Jon took the proffered letter from the Maester and quickly unrolled the parchment after unsealing it. He read it in a hurry, eyes widening in surprise by the last sentence.

"What is it?" Aza asked once Wolkan gave them some privacy again. The Maester must've knew that if Jon desired his presence or council, he would've asked for it. "Is it from Sam?"

"Aye," Jon replied as lowered the letter and they met eyes, "it's from Sam and he says that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass." The look on her face was of concern and confusion. She hadn't the faintest idea what any of this had truly meant. How Samwell's letter meant that it would be difficult to keep themselves out of Daenerys and Cersei's war against one another. "Tyrion also sent me a raven this morning." Aza perked up at the mention of the Lannister's name. "He's now the Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen, and he invites me to Dragonstone to meet with her in talks of giving her our support for the Iron Throne."

Aza sucked in a harsh breath, and that was all he needed to know that his earlier assumptions were true. She was none too pleased about the news. "Help me understand this." Aza straightened her back and began to pace the study. "Daenerys Targaryen has sailed from Essos and now resides in Dragonstone?" Jon gave a silent nod as an answer. "And she wants you, the King in the North, to ride south to help her win the Iron Throne?" He nodded once again. "There's no mention that she desires for you to relinquish your title as king? She's willing to keep the separations of the North and South, allowing them to rule as independent kingdoms?"

He parted his lips to reply, but nothing would leave him. What could he say? Jon had no insight if Daenerys would demand he'd give up being King in the North so that she could properly rule _all_ of the Seven Kingdoms. Well, she would rule only six once she disposed of Cersei, that is. Would she find any satisfaction of ruling only half the country? "I suppose the only way for me to find out is if I go to Dragonstone."

"And why would _you_ go?" questioned Aza. "You're the King, Jon, you have no business traveling south for negotiations. You're needed here and as you have said so before, _our_ war is here." She stopped her pacing, her steps now leading her towards him again so that she could stand before him. "Have someone else speak in your stead."

And who would he send as his emissary? Jon supposed Davos, his adviser, would be the wisest choice. None of the Northern lords would be willing, considering most of them haven't gotten over the past, the tragedies that befell them due to the Targaryens. "Tyrion wrote to me because he only knows and trusts me," Jon tried to make sense of it. "If it was so simple for me to be represented by someone else, I'm sure he would've said so."

"I don't want you to go." He hadn't expected her to come to a decision so swiftly. Not a single second had fully came to pass. "I have heard what people said…" Aza had let the anger on her face subside, her features gentler now. "How every time a person of Stark blood rides south, they die. Your grandfather, burned alive. Your uncle, strangled. Your aunt, kidnapped, raped and dead. Your _father_ , beheaded. Robb, murdered at his own wedding. The only one who has come back alive is Sansa and she did not come back completely unscathed."

A long silent moment passed between them. The anger he felt over her secrets and lies were now only small thoughts in the back of his head, having become addled because of her words. Jon wished he wasn't so easily moved by her fierceness to keep him alive and unharmed. She had always been so fiercely protective of him, never changing from that girl of seventeen that would fight men twice her size for him. How could his heart not become tender each and every time she voiced or he witnessed the greatness of her love for him?

"Daenerys has the majority of Dorne, the Reach, a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied, and three dragons." His words were heavy, leaving no room for argument. Aza began to stand awkwardly, shifting the majority of her weight on her left foot as she repeatedly wrung her hands. Aza understood why he listed all those things, but she only had the trouble of accepting what he planned to do.

"There are letters I need to write, ravens to send." Tucking Tyrion's letter in the pocket sewn in the lining in his cloak, he waited for a reply. Aza hadn't said a word, continuing mull over everything in strange quiet. "I haven't forgotten our earlier conversation," Jon reminded her and she lowered her head as if she were a child being reprimanded. "We _will_ discuss this another day."

 **AZA**

The formality that they were treating each other with was driving her mad. He was crossed with her, she knew, and she even felt that his reasoning was fair. She just didn't expect for him to treat her so cordially both in private and around others, however. Aza suspected it must've looked as ridiculous as it felt, for both Davos and Sansa were both concerned and vocal about their strange behavior around one another. The timing of things left no room for resolve. These past few days, Jon had been busy, preparing for the conference with their bannermen and women about both Daenerys and the dragonglass. Meanwhile, Aza took it upon herself to spend time with her Aunt Allyria before she sailed back to Starfall. It was a short time, but she considered it precious since she learned so much. Her aunt was a sweet woman yet a sad one; she was the only surviving member of their immediate family, and she was pained to leave both her and Ned in the North.

But the little bit of happiness she felt in the past few days withered until she felt none. As she sat in this meeting, there was tension running up Aza's neck, her eyes straining. She forced them close, letting them stay shut for a moment so at the very least she did not slip and wear her frustration on her face. The Northern lords and ladies couldn't assume something was off about their king and queen. She had enough of them watching her every move already. Aza also did not doubt that some of them would be pleased to see a rift between her and Jon.

"This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly," Jon announced before his seat at the high table of the Great Hall. Sam's letter was held up between his fingers for all the lords to see. "He was my brother at the Night's Watch. A man I trust as much as anyone in this world." Aza bit back the bitter smile that nearly painted her lips. She had to wonder if that was a not-so subtle jab towards her. "He's discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass."

The Great Hall was filled with soft murmuring, the lords and ladies discussing the information among themselves. Aza couldn't tell what any of them were thinking as Jon had given the letter to Lord Glover to pass around before he brought out the letter written by Tyrion's hand. While she didn't know what they made of Samwell's letter, she knew that Tyrion's letter would invoke a much more different reaction. "I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister."

As she suspected, the murmurs grew louder until they were no longer a string of words that could barely be made out. There were many off the hand comments about 'the treacherous kinslaying Imp' reverberating around the room. "He's now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and if this message is to be believed, three dragons."

The dragons were real, she knew they had to be. There were rumors about them when the surviving Targaryen was in Meereen while they were at the Wall. Aza also couldn't believe that Tyrion would lie about that either, for what would he gain from such lies? The lords and ladies of the North stiffened with fear. Three dragons and a large army? Who could not feel fear in their heart from the sound of that? But their fears were unfounded, for now, they would not suffer her destruction unlike the Lannister Queen.

"Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys and I'm going to accept." Her eyes flew wide open, the brown of them swirling with confusion and shock. Outcries of how outrageous it was for Jon to ride south drowned every other sound to be heard. It would seem her words had fell on deaf ears for Jon determinedly refused to listen to reason. "We need this dragonglass, My Lords. We know that dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons."

"But more importantly, we need allies. The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragon fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us. Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone."

He planned to leave her. He was going to go meet Daenerys without her? Leaving her and Sansa behind in Winterfell? All she could do was… blink. She was drowning in a sea of confusion and great apprehension, her mind not truly wrapping itself around the thought of Jon entering Dragonstone with only Davos. If Daenerys wanted, she could outright murder him and who would be there to save him? Certainly not Davos, he was no proper swordsman. The thought of Jon dying alone in a castle that far south, leaving her and her child to face the throes of Winter and the Night King's army alone was enough to make her want to scream.

"Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?" Sansa's voice, full of a quiet yet prominent kind of rage, had somewhat brought Aza back to unsettling reality. "The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him _alive_."

"I know that," Jon simply replied.

"She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those seven kingdoms," said Sansa. "This isn't an invitation, it's a trap."

"It could be, but I don't believe Tyrion would do that." He sounded confident. Confident and full of trust for Tyrion Lannister, a man that he hasn't seen in years. While Aza enjoyed him, she even liked him, but who was to say that the night Tyrion Lannister used a crossbow on his own father that he didn't change? Kinslaying tended to fuck people up beyond repair. "You know him. He's a good man." Aza did her best to keep her refute in her throat. It was stifling, to remain still and calm. Her heart was racing wildly, her palms were clammy and shaking, and the tension kept building instead of bleeding away.

 _Calm yourself, Aza. Think of the child. Have you not tortured it enough every time your heart misgave?_ Aza warned herself. Her jaw tightened as she inhaled, exhaled slowly, and allowed determination sink into her bones. Some of her anxiety managed to fade, her hands even stopped with their shaking. It didn't matter, how hard she tried to not let her stress be visible. Rickon took notice and the furrowing of his brows was enough to inform her that he worried for her. A smile wouldn't be sufficient and she couldn't think of a believable lie. Had it not been for Lord Yohn's Royce rebuttal, Aza wasn't sure what to do to send Rickon's attention elsewhere. "Your Grace, with respect, I must agree with Lady Sansa. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted, nor a Lannister."

The Great Hall was filled with shouts of agreement. It was unanimous that neither Daenerys nor Tyrion were looked favorably upon in the North and that Jon was fighting a losing battle. The Dayne blood in her veins did nothing for her reputation, so she suspected its name wouldn't help her either, if she had taken Ned's offer. What would they say of her had she opposed them? She already heard one man before the meeting say that the Daynes were and always will be the Targaryen Dornish dogs. "We called your brother king, and then he rode south and lost his kingdom," Lord Glover grimly reminded him. Despite agreeing that Jon shouldn't leave for Dragonstone, Aza fought not to glare at Robett. How could he have any say when he sat himself out in the battle for Winterfell? Did he care for his kingdom then? No, he only cared about his own skin.

"Winter is here, Your Grace." Even Lady Lyanna Mormont could not agree. Always vocal with her support and most willing to be of open mind of Jon's past decisions, she could not be swayed by him for this matter. "We need the King in the North _in_ the _North_."

Fists and horns empty of ale were brought down repeatedly and harshly against the hard surface of the tables. Not one, not a single soul in the Great Hall, agreed with Jon. Davos remained unusually silent, likely unsure of how to persuade them. He was always good at convincing people of doing almost anything, though he must've knew that this was a lost cause. The people of the North were stubborn, not so easily moved like many southerners with pretty promises.

"You all crowned me your king. I never wanted it, I never asked for it, but I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds, but the odds are against us. None of you have seen the Army of the Dead." There was some harshness in his voice as Jon emphasized and reminded them of the great threat. " _None_ of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it's a risk but I have to take it."

"Then send an emissary," Sansa argued. "Don't go yourself."

"Daenerys is a queen," Jon stated. "Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me."

Aza stared unseeing at the other side of the room. Her brows remained furrowed, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. For a long moment she stayed like that. After a time, though, Aza squared her slumped shoulders and raised her chin up. Taking a deep breath, Aza tried to push aside the ache in her chest. "Then I will go." Aza finally found the strength to speak. Her voice wasn't as strong as she would've liked yet she was still well heard.

Sansa and Jon's bickering came to an end and the Northern lords and ladies quieted. While not feeling exactly better, Aza felt more grounded now that she captured everyone's attention. She stood from her seat, fingers lacing together with poise, and her eyes surveying the many people that were now looking directly at her. The only pair of eyes that seemed to soothe her was Ned's, who smiled when their gazes locked. "I am a queen just as she is and being that I am a woman, I could surely reason with her better than you."

Jon's eyes were sharp; the dark pools of grey which usually were warm when looking at her were now hard and studying. He looked at her like that often these days and by the Seven, she hated it. Rounding the high table, Aza made her way to the middle of the Great Hall to make sure everyone heard her loud and clear. "You all call her the foreign invader. I've heard the whispers before the meeting began." Heads bowed in what most people would think to be of shame, but it was actually guilt. They weren't sorry for what they said, they were only sorry that she knew. "And I know that many of you think the same of me."

In silence, Jon walked towards her and his hand wrapped itself around her arm. She shifted restlessly, anxiety creeping the longer neither of them spoke. "You need to be _here_ ," Jon's voice was soft, his concern genuine and reaching his eyes. "It's far too dangerous for you to go alone."

"I won't go alone," she disputed. "In your place, I'll go with Ser Davos." The Onion Knight did not disagree with her yet neither had he been vocal if he truly did agree. All she was given was a look, a look that seemed to read: 'Is that what you truly want?'. She would rather be here, in Winterfell, with her entire family, but Jon was right when he pointed out that they didn't have the numbers. As bitterly as she thought of the Targaryens, she could not be so petty as to overcloud proper judgement by not agreeing to at least see if an alliance would truly be in their favor. Not to mention, if an alliance couldn't be made, they still needed the dragonglass. That was more important than anything else; pride, distrust, and so on was nothing compared to what they had to prepare themselves for. "The North is my kingdom too, and I care for all the people within it. A proper queen would seek help and that's what I intend to do."

Rickon looked back and forth between the two of them, obviously unable to choose a side. Sansa, however, had her mind already made up. "Neither of you should go," stated Sansa. "The both of you cannot abandon your people. You'll be abandoning your home."

"We won't." Jon had loosened his grip on Aza's arm. He turned to look at Sansa with nothing but trust. "We'll be leaving both in good hands."

"Whose?" Sansa questioned, confused of whom Jon had so clearly meant.

"Yours and Rickon's," he answered. "You are my brother and sister. You and Rickon are the only Starks in Winterfell. Until we return, the North is yours."

 **JON**

The ship rocked gently beneath him, hardly bringing him any comfort as he was swallowed by the shadows and watched his wife. Her elbow was resting on the wooden rail, cradling her head in her hand. The darkness of night was absolute, a cold blue with a smattering of glittering stars by the thousands scattering the heavens. They felt so near, the stars, that one might think they could pluck them one by one from the sky. The moon hinged fully, pale and bright, but he couldn't be taken by the sight of any of it. His eyes are too focused on his wife, who effortlessly outshined the brilliance of the stars above, her skin practically glowing in the silver moonlight.

"Aza," Jon called her name once he stepped into the moonlight. She nearly jumped at the abruptness of his voice. This was the second time in a span of five years that he managed to sneak up on her. She was usually always so alert, ears always keen to pick up the slightest bit of noise. Was it her need for secrets that left her so open? So _vulnerable_.

His wife turned to face him, lips parted in surprise, and for a time she simply stared at him. "I thought you had gone to bed." It felt as if she pushed out her words. As if she was forcing herself to converse with him. Was this really how things were going to be? He had to fix it, somehow. Someway. He hated this distance between them.

"I can't sleep," Jon answered truthfully. Her eyebrows drew themselves downward in puzzlement, like she was confused by the anxiety that was keeping him awake. "I won't sleep until we put this to rest. We need to talk about _it_." And she knew exactly what 'it' had meant.

The throbbing silence made Jon's skin crawl, his stomach turning in the unfriendliest of ways. For a fleeting moment, he almost thought she would say no and turn away from him, but there was relief to be felt when she nodded her head and ambled her way towards him. It was quiet, their walk to their shared cabin. As they descended below the deck, he could feel her eyes on him, searching for something he couldn't really figure out.

Once they were inside their quarters, Jon saw Ghost fast asleep, having tucked himself in the nearest corner. He and Aza argued about bringing him along, for he felt that it might be a show of power if he presented the wolf before the Dragon Queen; 'You have yours dragons and I, my direwolf' but Aza called it nonsense and refused to leave the wolf in Winterfell. She won, ultimately, mostly because Jon grew exhausted with the strain that was growing exponentially between them. And Ghost, himself, did not enjoy the idea of being without her either.

Aza made her way in the middle of the room, her back facing him. She began to wring her hands as if she was nervous about the conversation to be had. He swallowed the frown, hurt but not wanting her to see. "Why did you send Melisandre away and why did you lie about it?"

His grey eyes connected with her brown once as she finally spun to face him. She attempted to smile, at least that's what he thought. It fell flat and toed the line of bitter instead. "The day you came back from the dead," Aza began softly. "Do you remember I fainted?" Jon stiffened immediately. He didn't give her answer, he simply waited, not wanting to interrupt. It was obvious she needed to work up her courage, and she looked grateful that he did.

She swallowed hard, twice, before she carefully set her words free. "You thought, you _hoped_ , that I was with child then." Blood drained from his face and the worst thought imaginable came to mind. He moved quickly, cupping her face in his trembling hands, eyes wide.

"You… You were?" His voice cracked. He assumed the absolute worst. That she may have been and all the events leading up to now, she had—

"I _am_ ," she reassured him, killing the saddening thought his mind had birthed. He did the math, counting the days, and realized that…

"You knew?" Jon whispered. "You knew and you… You went out to battle with me?" He waited, desperately, for her to deny the implication or to at least be kind enough to explain it away. His reaction was immediate. "You knew and you didn't—" Jon's hands left her face, dropping to his sides as he backed away.

Aza shook her head fervently, crossing towards him to erase the distance he tried to force between them. "I didn't know, but Melisandre did. She knew and she let me go out there and risk our child's life." That would explain the acid in her words when she spoke of the Priestess that day. He could understand why she was adamant about giving the woman death if she remained in Winterfell. "I hadn't known until the day the North named you their king, and even then it was Lord Baelish that told me. I didn't know I was with child, but he claimed to see all the signs and so I went to Maester Wolkan to confirm it."

"And why didn't you tell me right away?" The horror in his voice was gone, but anger and disbelief remained.

"Melisandre gave me this strange tea before I was aware I was pregnant," Aza explained. "I thought nothing of it at first, but then I began to wonder if she had poisoned me. I had Wolkan look into it and it turns out that what she gave me helped me than it harmed me." She briefly lowered her gaze to the floor. "If it was poison and the child would be lost, I wanted to spare you of that, but I also wanted the moment to be right," she insisted and lifted her eyes again. "And I wanted to wait until I was happy that our child was in me."

"I hold a sword better than I hold a baby." Her voice wobbled, words catching as she fought to control herself. "I wear blood better than I wear a sling." His posture sagged, any sort of fight he had in him left. "When you look at me, do you see a woman meant to be a mother? And if I had known about this child before we marched for Winterfell, I would've taken the moon tea. I would've rid myself of it. I'm glad I didn't. I'm happy about the little life in me. I cannot wait to meet them." Aza muffled the sob that escaped in her hand, and the tears wouldn't stop spilling over. She eventually tore her hand away, quickly scrubbing at her cheeks. "But the past few weeks have made me feel so unworthy of being a mother."

While the confession made him ache and filled him with a strange numbness, Jon was struck by how strong Aza truly was. So calm when terrified, her strength ran a thousand times deeper than when she thrust herself into battle. If anything, Jon was proud of her and that admiration as well as adoration he felt towards her made him twice the happy man. To know that his child would have someone like her as their mother was the greatest happiness that ever could've been bestowed upon him. All her insecurities were unfounded, downright silly, when everything Aza did, she did so with her head held up and not allowing herself to crumble into the easiest invitation of weakness. She could've gave up at anytime, he wouldn't have faulted her at all if she had, but she never chose weakness. She kept finding strength, small as it may have been, and never let go while it thinned and slipped through her fingers like water.

He gripped her hair, tilting her head back, and crashed his mouth into hers; fierce, hungry, desperate. Jon kissed her like a man drowning, teeth sharp on her lower lip with a bite before soothing it immediately with his tongue, slipping it past her open mouth when she gasped. Her hands climbed, one fisting the back of his cloak while the other scratched along his scalp, freeing his tied up hair with a pull off the band that tied it back to return gather a handful of curls. She pulled him closer, arching her body towards his, sweet sounds leaving her and filling his ears as he began to crowd her backwards towards the bed.

"You are amazing, you know that?" Jon muttered, taking a moment to break away for a taste of air and to soak in the sight of her. Aza fluttered her eyes open, revealing how unfocused, heated, and beseeching they were. He didn't expect for her to answer, he hardly had the patience to wait for her to. With renewed fervor, Jon set into her, drugging her with open mouth kisses. Her hips shifted restlessly as she settled over his hardness, the feel of it making her hands sink and tighten into his curls.

They stripped each other frantically, Jon nearly tearing the laces of her dress to tug it down as her fingers tangled with the laces of his breeches. He shuddered when she cupped him through the soft leather, squeezing lightly where he was straining the fabric. In retaliation, he dropped his head to her neck and bites, bruising every bit of the skin of her throat. Her nails scratched the skin on his stomach as she struggled to pull his breeches down his hips, marking red lines across his flesh.

His attention soon drifted away from her neck, his kisses soft and reverent as he traveled down her body. It isn't until he met the small swell of her belly that he stopped sliding his lips down her skin to rest his cheek against the spot where new life grew.

 **AZA**

It was a grim place, the island of Dragonstone. She supposed the name fitted the once Valyrian Freehold very well. The castle had very high walls, stones of a dreary shade of grey and twisting in odd shapes. Southerners used to say that it was built with the assistance of arcane arts, all sorts of fire and sorcery that Valyrians were once infamous for using. As a child, she felt little fascination that the Valyrians could use magic to liquefy stone but now that she could see it for herself, she found the sight of it terrifyingly dark in a lonely sense of impending doom sort of way. Why anyone would want to live here? She wasn't sure. It was certainly not a place Aza would ever dream to call home.

Her eyes briefly looked at her and Jon's joined hands. He took her hand when the boat continuously rocked and she expressed queasiness the first time the boat swayed. It was probably more or less her fault because she had spent the morning wolfing down all the salmon the men managed to fish. She should've known better, especially since they had to take a short trip by rowboat to the island's beach and the waves were more than a little temperamental. Ghost looked rather uneasy every time the boat so much as lurched, likely afraid that it would turn over and he would be forced into Blackwater bay. His unease hadn't helped her own, though she tried to temper his with soothing words and gentle strokes of her free hand.

It didn't take long until they met the shore, Jon helping her to her feet and onto the wet sand as Davos and a few of the Northerners that sailed with them began to pull the boat onto the shore. Not too far away, Aza saw the familiar face of Tyrion Lannister. He stood with a woman and some men that looked to be Dothraki. They had their weapons brandished, probably stationed as guards to keep the Hand of the Queen and whoever the woman safe as they escorted them. If she hadn't known that this was typical decorum of every lord and ruler, she would've scoffed and found offense.

Easing her hand out of Jon's grasp, she hiked up the ends of her skirts so that they didn't become filthy from the sand or wet from the waves that enjoyed crashing against the shoreline. She walked alongside Jon as Davos and Ghost trailed behind them. "The bastard of Winterfell," Tyrion acknowledged Jon first once they approached.

"The dwarf of Casterly Rock," Jon shot back. The two of them stood and stared at one another for a moment, leaving Davos and herself to exchange a confused look. Davos looked ready to ask if there was any sort of mishaps between them, but his curiosity ended when Jon and Tyrion broke out into smiles and shook hands.

"I believe we last saw each other on top of the Wall," Tyrion said after a second of thought, his eyes squint due to the blaring sunlight.

"You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right." Jon then examined Tyrion's face for a moment. "You picked up some scars along the road."

Tyrion nodded in agreement, a forlorn look sweeping over his face. "It's been a long road, but we're both still here." His green eyes then looked in her direction, his head soon falling into a curious tilt. "Now, is it safe to say that you've brought along my favorite sellsword?" Aza rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself from smiling. "It still amazes me to this day that I had been completely in the dark that you were a girl. You fooled me well." His steps towards her were slow, his eyes still roaming all over her face. "You've grown to be quite the woman, my old friend."

"I almost feared that you might've changed much since I saw you last," she told him honestly. "But you're still the same, and I'm glad. You're still a man that knows the right words to say, you likeable Lannister."

"Someone out of my family has to be," he joked. "It would seem that I made the right choice in asking you to take care of Jon Snow." A knowing smirk soon took shape as he lowered his eyes to her stomach, catching the sight of her swollen belly due to the sudden wind that billowed her cloak. "And he has been taking _very_ good care of you, it would seem."

"Quiet, dwarf." Aza flushed, her eyes lowering rather meekly, causing Tyrion to chuckle.

He then shifted his attention to Davos. "I'm Tyrion Lannister," he introduced himself.

"Davos Seaworth," Davos replied in kind, shaking the Lannister's hand firmly.

"Ah, the Onion Knight." Aza rose a brow, wondering how Tyrion knew him. "We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater bay."

"Unluckily for me," jested Davos, seeming to have no hard feelings. Aza wouldn't blame him if he did, for that was a battle where he lost many of his sons.

Tyrion then turned to the young woman clad in black in the same fashion as him. Her skin was a pale shade of brown and glowed under the sun. Her hair, brown and neat of tight coiling curls, reminded Aza of the texture of her mother's. The largeness of her eyes and her distinct her features looked to be similar of those of the Summer Isles, she noticed. Had it not been for the golden hue of the woman's eyes, Aza wouldn't have recognized that the girl was obviously of Naath descent. "Missandei is the queen's most trusted adviser," Tyrion informed them.

Missandei then gave them a friendly smile and a curt nod of her head. "Welcome to Dragonstone," she said. "Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons."

Aza stiffened as she, Jon, and Davos shared a look with one another. She didn't like the idea of them going into Dragonstone defenseless. Had it not been the encouraging look Davos gave her, Aza would've likely refused. "Of course," Jon said rather reluctantly.

As Jon untied Longclaw from his sword belt, Aza undid Dusk's strap slowly and hesitatingly. The Dothraki guard wasted no time in taking their weapons and Aza supposed it was wrong that she glared at him when he was only doing his duty. The rest of the Dothraki had lifted up their boat, carrying it away to a safer place.

"Please, this way," Missandei gestured and began to lead the way. Aza kept pace with Jon as they trailed a few steps behind Davos, Missandei, and Tyrion.

"Where are you from?" Aza heard Davos ask Missandei. "I can't place the accent."

"I was born on the Isle of Naath," she answered. Aza smirked, feeling a bit triumphant that she had been right.

"Ah, I hear it's beautiful down there. Palm trees and butterflies. I haven't been myself." He was right. The Island of Naath was said be beautiful with their butterflies and their Lord of Harmony in the Summer Sea. She met people from there living in the Summer Isles because it was close to her home of Jhala.

Davos had slowed down his pace, making sure that he was out of Missandei's earshot and next to Jon. "This place has changed," he noted. Aza snickered, wondering if Davos truly thought that it would be just like how he and Stannis left it.

Missandei had then glanced over her shoulder, taking the time to study her. Aza wondered if she too grew curious of her origins, being that she was foreign. She picked up the pace, letting her strides meet Daenerys' adviser. "I suppose you wonder where I am from as well?" questioned Aza.

"I thought it may be rude to ask a queen such a question," the Naath woman replied. "I hope I made no offense."

"I'm not offended," she assured Missandei with a faint smile. "My blood is the blood of Summer."

"The Summer Isles?" Missandei perked up. She seemed interested that Aza was from such a place, and it left the Islander to wonder exactly why. "I know someone from there, but he was only just a baby when he was taken."

"Taken?" Aza repeated, knowing that there was only one way a person could be 'taken' from the Summer Isles. "You mean to say he was sold to slavery?" Missandei lowered her eyes, her nod very stiff. "Slavery is inescapable, isn't it?"

The expressions the both of them wore told a tale that neither one of them hadn't meant to share. "It has affected you as well?" Missandei's choice of words were very kind. She really wanted to ask if Aza was once a slave, but didn't want to make the mistake of re-opening any wounds should Aza have any.

"No, luckily," Aza replied, "but it took my mother from me."

They fell into silence as they made their way up to the castle along a narrow stone pathway built into the cliffs. Aza gazed out at the blue waters of Blackwater bay, the sun quite warm as it shined down on them. The seabreeze may have been chilly but it didn't help cool down heat that made her want to throw this heavy cloak off her. She was more than glad that the seamstress made her dresses of thinner and lighter material for her duration here or else she might've sweated to death. How Jon remained unfazed by it all with his heavy cloak and gorget was an oddity in itself.

"And Sansa." She picked up on Tyrion and Jon's conversation. "I hear she's alive and well."

She had known little, about Sansa and Tyrion's relationship if there ever was one. They were married for a time. She wasn't all that informed on whether Sansa and Tyrion thought favorably toward one another either, though from the sound of things, they were once amicable.

"She is," Jon kept it short.

"Does she miss me terribly?" Aza rose a curious brow at Tyrion's joke and saw Jon's deadpanned expression and choice of silence from the corner of her eyes. Tyrion had no idea how protective Jon was of his sister due to what the girl had sadly been through. The Lannister was unknowingly treading himself into some very very dangerous waters. "A sham marriage and unconsummated." It was unconsummated? No wonder the Boltons easily could force a marriage. It hadn't really surprised her that Tyrion did not force Sansa to bed, he liked his women willing and frequented brothels often during the time she had known him in King's Landing.

"I didn't ask—"

"Well, it was. It _wasn't_ ," Tyrion had swiftly interrupted Jon. "Anyway, she's much smarter than she lets on."

"She's starting to let on," Jon briskly replied. Of course he would say that. Sansa has been letting on that she knows more than what he thought she was capable of knowing these past few months. Aza could laugh at how unaware their Lannister friend knew of how Sansa flexed her political savvyness often.

"Good," said the Lannister. "At some point I want to hear how a Night's Watch recruit became King in the North."

"As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen." That was sure to be quite the story and Aza found herself eager to hear it.

"A long and bloody tale," was Tyrion cryptic response. "To be honest, I was drunk for most of it."

Aza snorted loudly, not at all doubting that to be true. Tyrion gave her a mockingly offended look before smiling as they continued their path towards the castle. "My bannermen think I'm a fool for coming here," Jon confessed. "My own wife thinks me to be a fool as well." Jon looked in her direction, but Aza played it off by looking at any and everything that wasn't him. There was no use in him regretting it now, they were here and there was no turning back, especially not empty-handed.

"Of course they do," Tyrion agreed. "If I was your Hand, I would have advised against it. General rule of thumb, Stark men don't fare well when they travel south."

The look that bloomed on her face was a fierce 'I told you so', but Jon looked away to ignore it. "True," he then said, "but I'm not a Stark."

Before she knew it, her hands quickly covered her ears as a screeching loud roar came over head. She didn't even know she was on the ground until she opened her eyes to find Jon using his body to shield her. She looked past him, catching a glimpse of what was actually, truly, and in all its glory, a dragon. Her eyes widened with fear and awe as its black scales shined brilliantly in the bright rays of sunlight as it passed over the ocean and flew upward into the blue sky above. The flap of its wings made a sound that reminded her of claps of thunder, making her tremble in fright. Jon had helped her to her feet, fretting over her by asking if she was alright. She gave him quick nods to calm him, knowing there was no use in getting annoyed by his smothering when a fucking dragon of all things swooped over them. He had every right to panic, especially knowing she was just five months along in this pregnancy.

"I'd say you get used to them," Tyrion had said as he helped Davos to his feet, "but you never really do." Aza tilted her head back to look up at the sky, seeing three dragons circling above Dragonstone. The sight of them truly had her thinking that it really was a terrible mistake for them to come here, although the sensible part of her begged to have them in the fight against the Night's King. They would surely win with the three of them, wouldn't they? "Come. Their mother is waiting for you."

They no longer walked leisurely, it was more like a race to the castle now. That was more than enough excitement she was willing to endure for the day. She tried to calm her racing heart, letting out deep exhales with every inhale. Her legs were beginning to feel sore and short-lived spasms were starting to become frequent the longer they walked. Aza did her best to mask her discomfort, forcing a smile whenever Jon glanced in her direction and kept her chin up. Once they past the gates and thankfully were allowed entry, Aza felt dread as soon as she entered.

This place was much more grim in appearance on the inside than the outside. The stones were black, making the place much darker than it needed to be. What gave the halls light were the dragon claws that held torches and even then, she felt like she was walking in shadows. The Targaryens overdid it, in their design of their place. She knew they were dragonriders, fond of the creature of their house, but did there need to be dragons everywhere she turned? Surprisingly there were other creatures, too; basiliks, coaktrices, demons, griffins, hellhounds, manticores, minotaurs, wyrverns, and others she couldn't properly name. All of them frightening animals that not even children would've liked to dream about or wanted to pet.

Tall and muscled Dothraki, imposing in every shape and form, stood guard at the doors of the throne room. Scimitars in hand, they were about to open the large doors until their dark eyes landed on the white direwolf. The sight of Ghost had them wary and frightened, and they spoke quickly in their language, leaving mostly everyone confused. "The beast," one of them said in the Common Tongue. "The beast stays here."

Narrowing her eyes, Aza flexed her jaw and stood protectively in front of the direwolf. "The _beast_ enters with me," she said without backing down.

Jon took hold of her arm, reeling her back and giving her a harsh look. Was she wrong? Were they to submissively comply to each and everything they demanded? They already relinquished their weapons, which she was still unhappy about, but Aza downright refused to give up Ghost as well. "The wolf does no harm," Tyrion said in her defense. "He's quite mannerly and only gets violent when you try to separate him from his master and mistress."

They spoke to one another in their foreign language before they slew their eyes to her and then down at Ghost. They weren't happy, she knew, but they opened the doors for them and allowed her, Davos, Jon, and Ghost inside. Aza nearly sighed in relief as they walked in and Tyrion and Missandei took their proper places by their queen. Lacing her fingers, Aza stood next to Jon's right with Ghost while Davos stood on his left.

Sitting on what looked to be a very uncomfortable throne was Daenerys Targaryen. She was the picture of a true Valyrian, silver hair and eyes the shade of violet. Aza, herself, could admit that the woman was beautiful and youthful, and had a presence about her that befitted a queen. But just looking at her reminded Aza that she was the sister of the man her father died for. The sister of the very same man that kidnapped and defiled her husband's aunt. She was also the daughter of the Mad King, who wreaked havoc and caused death and sadness to the Starks and many families before he had been rightly taken from this world. Not to mention her ancestors took Aza's people, people of the Summer Isles, as slaves to Old Valyria for centuries.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men… " Her head lolled forward, eyes were glazing with drowsiness as she fought not to let her eyelids slip close to the welcoming yet brief darkness. Somewhere along the announcement of Daenerys titles, Aza felt her drowsiness from the walking all this way and being out at sea starting to catch up to her. How many titles did the woman have? And why did she need to be so pretentious to have every, single one of them said? "The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea—"

Something wasn't right. Aza forced her eyes open, noticing that Daenerys had her hand raised and Missandei had long stopped speaking. Looking at her now was the so-called Dragon Queen, and a frown was marring her features. "Do my list of titles bore you?"

Aza, a bit confused as to who she was speaking to, looked around to take notice that all eyes were looking directly at her. Ah, so she noticed? That was rude, very rude on her part. "Forgive me," she apologized. "You see, I am with child and the months spent at sea has taken its toll on me."

Empathy danced across the woman's eyes and her expression softened. "Had I been made aware that you were pregnant, I would've not allowed you to stand. Would you like a chair? Water? Anything at all?" Her concern wasn't as simple as one woman to another. Daenerys sounded like a woman that knew the troubles of pregnancy, from one mother to another. Seeing as she never heard of her having actual children other than her dragons, Aza had to wonder if the woman unfortunately lost any.

Aza shook her head, feeling twice as guilty if what she assumed was true. "No, I'm fine. Do not trouble yourself to accommodate me." She then looked towards Missandei and said, "You may continue."

The queen's adviser looked unsure and then gazed up at her queen, who gave her a simple nod. "The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains." Finished, Missandei then fell to silence.

Aza looked at Jon, who had in turn looked to Davos. What were they to say? Jon was just the King in the North. He didn't have any other fancy names to be said to match Daenerys. "This is Jon Snow," Davos said with a nod and utmost confidence. "He's King in the North." Aza nearly slapped her palm against her face, more than embarrassed that this was all they could come up with.

Tyrion was even amused, smirking to himself at this unfortunate display. "Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords and Lady," said Daenerys, cordially, but Aza couldn't help but notice that she didn't not greet them properly. They were no lords and lady, they were the King and Queen in the North. "I hope the seas weren't too rough."

"The winds were kind, Your Grace." Jon did well to ignore it, always trying to dance around insults than meet them head on. He wasn't the confrontational type unless he had to be, she knew, but the woman was purposely being rude. It should not be ignored.

"Apologies," Davos decidedly spoke up. "I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know, but Jon Snow is King in the North. His wife, Aza Snow, is the queen, Your Grace. They are no lord and lady."

Aza wondered what the Targaryen's reaction would be. She kept her calm as she spoke; "Forgive me—"

"Your Grace," Tyrion interrupted, "this is Ser Davos Seaworth."

Freshly informed, Daenerys nodded thankfully at her Hand. "Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen, in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen. Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity, but do I have my facts wrong?"

"Actually," Aza intervened, "the last King in the North was Robb Stark, my husband's eldest brother, who was unfortunately murdered in the War of Five Kings. A war you did not partake in for you were in Essos as you have been since birth."

Daenerys faced pulled with tension. "You're right. I was freeing thousands of slaves across Essos while your former king and four others were tearing Westeros apart," she said in a way that was matter-of-factly. "But still an oath is an oath. In perpetuity means—what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?"

"Forever," Tyrion answered.

"Forever," she repeated with a mocking smile. "So I assume, My Lord and Lady, that you're both here to bend the knee."

"I know what perpetuity means, thank you. I did not need to be re-educated of that," spat Aza, feeling the frown on her face and didn't attempt to hide it. She could not believe that this woman had the gall to speak down to her as if she were some little girl.

"We did not come to bend the knee," Jon said gruffly, rather aggravated.

"Oh," Daenerys said in feigned surprise. "Well, that is unfortunate. You've traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?"

"Break faith?" Jon echoed incredulously. "Your father burned my grandfather alive. He let my uncle strangle himself to death in efforts to save him. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms—"

"My father was an evil man," interrupted the Targaryen. She seemed genuine, at least at the moment. "On behalf of House Targaryen I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family, and I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father." Aza averted her gaze, knowing she was guilty of being prone to judge the woman based on the sins of her relatives. "Our two Houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the kingdom's ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North."

Struck with disbelief, Aza's lips parted in shock at the utter nonsense that left Daenerys' mouth. "Peace and prosperity?!" Aza shouted in bewilderment, her brows furrowed in anger. "You were being honest when you said you received no formal education because there has been very little _peace_ and _prosperity_ in the Seven Kingdoms with the Targaryens on the Iron Throne."

"All your ancestors did was rage war in over a span of 300 years, _Your Grace_." It was times like these that she was grateful that Hadrian demanded she read history books until the dead of night in her sellsword training. Not to mention the books she made herself read from the rebuilt library in Winterfell. How Daenerys could outright be blind to the faults of her family was a little more than unsettling. It was downright scary as it was ridiculous. "There has been at least one war every thirty-one years thanks to House Targaryen. Every elder living has at least lived and suffered through two wars in their lifetime because of _your_ family."

Her violet eyes flew to Tyrion, hoping that he would come to her rescue with a rebuttal. Tyrion, however, knew everything Aza said was true and lowered his head in confirmation that he could not combat it. Somewhat flabbergasted at the facts she had been forced to learn, Daenerys briefly took a moment to think before she tried to salve the situation. "I will not be like them. Like my father, like my ancestors. I do not want war, I never did. As the last Targaryen, I will see to it that in the future the people of Westeros will know of my family by a different history than of the past. Honor the pledge that House Stark's ancestors made to mine. Bend the knee, Jon Snow and Aza. I will name him Warden of the North, and the three of us will save this country from those who would destroy it."

 _Pretty words_ , was all Aza could think. She had the gift of gab, just like her Lannister Hand. Aza exchanged a look with her husband and neither of them like the idea of submitting to her. Because she knew her words were likely to come out as harsh, she remained silent while Jon said what the both of them were thinking. "You're right," Jon began, "you're not guilty of your father's or ancestors crimes and I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows."

She was unhappy, that much was clear. She must not be used to not having her way. Her dragons must've made her comfortable. Too comfortable for Aza's liking. "Then why are you here?" Daenerys inquired, her voice having a bit of an edge to it.

"Because we need your help and you need ours," Jon stated.

The smirk that came across her face made Aza roll her eyes, and she continued looked away to keep herself calm. She made the mistake of shouting before, she would not lose her head for a second time. "Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?" she questioned him like he was some sort of child.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Aza counted to ten to keep her head leveled. "I did," Jon answered, calm as ever. He did not allow Daenerys to annoy him as Aza unfortunately did.

"And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?" Daenerys furthered questioned.

"They're hard to miss," Jon said in jest.

"But still, I need your help?" Daenerys said, perplexed and humored that someone with so much in her arsenal like her would actually come to need the measly likes of them. At least that's how it came across as far as Aza was concerned.

"Not to defeat Cersei," said Davos. "You could storm King's Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn't even have dragons."

" _Almost_ ," Tyrion lightly added.

"But you haven't stormed King's Landing. Why not?" Jon asked. "The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war but you won't do it. Which means at the very least you're better than Cersei."

All of which was true. As much as she grated Aza's nerves within the short span of time they've met, she was definitely a person that knew and gave kindness unlike Cersei Lannister. Only a mad person would choose Cersei over the likes of Daenerys. She needed some of her edges smoothed but other than that, Aza could possibly see her being a rather just ruler in the future. She simply had some ways to go, is all.

"Still…" Daenerys remained confused. "That doesn't explain why I need your help."

"Because right now you and I and Cersei and everyone else, we're playing at a game screaming that the rules aren't fair." Aza snorted, loudly, and rose a curious brow at her husband choice of painting the bigger picture.

He offended the Dragon Queen even more, if it were possible that she could more offended by the account of what she and Jon have said to her today. She turned to Tyrion, blatantly upset. "You told me you liked this man."

"I do," Tyrion admitted, unwavering.

"In the time since he and his wife have met me, they've refused to call me queen. They've refused to bow, and now he's calling me a _child._ "

Was she not at all being childish? She seemed to have confirmed everything Jon had said. "I believe he's calling _all_ of us children," he said, not at all taking offense. "Figure of speech."

"Your Grace, everyone you know will die before Winter is over if we don't defeat the enemy to the North." It really was a mistake to come here because they weren't going anywhere, and trying to tell Daenerys about the White Walkers and the Night King was going to be like talking to a stone wall.

"As far as I can see, _you_ are the enemy to the North," Daenerys replied.

"I am not your enemy," Jon argued. "The dead are the enemy."

This was the turning point, of Daenerys thinking them as mad fools playing King and Queen in the North. Aza could tell none of this was going to go in their favor; a lost cause, all of this was. "The dead?" the Dragon Queen echoed skeptically, the look in her eyes confirming what Aza believed would happen. She turned to address Tyrion, as if the Lannister knew more than they did. How in Seven Hells was he to know what they were talking about? He did not see the White Walkers or the Night King himself. "Is that another figure of speech?"

Not giving the chance for Tyrion to speak, Jon answered before he could. "The Army of the Dead is on the march."

Tyrion recoiled back, confused and just as incredulous as his queen. "The Army of the Dead?"

"You don't know me well, My Lord, but do you think I am a liar or a madman?" Jon questioned Tyrion.

"No, I don't think you're either of those things," Tyrion replied.

"The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them. My wife has seen them. My brother has seen them. If they get past the wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves—" In order to convey as this being the true, he tried to step further so that Daenerys could get a glimpse at the raw honesty he wore, but the Dothraki guards took a cautious step forward to halt him.

If only she had Dusk, she would've unsheathed it right now and tell them to back off. But her feet remained firmly planted where she stood, Davos' arm keeping her at bay and Ghost's growl was now echoing throughout the room as a warning. "We're finished," concluded Jon, taking some steps back to calm Ghost from springing into action.

There was silence in the air for a moment, before Daenerys mulled out; "I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it." Standing from her throne, she descended the steps and began to make her way towards them. "We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands."

"So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? _Faith_. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In _myself_. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea." She stopped walking once she could stand before them, unveiling that the Dragon Queen did not have much height. She was a small woman, just two inches taller than Aza. "They did for _me_. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms and I _will_."

"I understand that your life was not easy," Aza decided with foolish optimistic hope to appeal to her. She really shouldn't have at this point, but all she could think of was how great it would be to have dragons against the Night King's army. How they had a fighting chance for life if Daenerys was their ally and not their enemy. "You've been through much, and how you survived it all is admirable. But no one in this world has an easy life. Everyone had a hard life."

Daenerys ire seemed to have calmed some. "But all of what you accomplished, the struggles you made to get where you are now… None of that will mean much to anything if we don't _defeat_ the Night King," Aza stressed, unsure of what else she could say at this point to convince her of that.

"You'll be ruling over a graveyard," Jon grimly sold it as what it was.

Tyrion soon approached them, standing next to Daenerys as he spoke to Jon, "The war against my sister has already begun. You can't expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting—" He took a moment to pause, likely unsure of how to word it until he fell short. "Whatever you saw beyond the Wall."

She couldn't really blame them, at least not much. None of them saw what she and Jon witnessed. Although it was frustrating, she knew the severity of this situation was hard to consume with just mere words and personal accounts. "You don't believe them. I understand that. It sounds like nonsense," Davos tried to smooth things over, and Jon gave an understanding nod. "But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros. He was the first to make allies with Wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of his birthright," Davos did well to remind her of that. "He has no birthright. He's a damn bastard. All those hard son's of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him."

"All those things you don't believe in, he faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his ow—" Both Aza and Jon gave him a pointed look, forcing him to quiet. If neither one of them were going to believe anything they said about the Army of the Dead or the Night King, they would definitely think them crazy if they brought up Jon's death and revival. It wasn't worth the mention. It wouldn't help them at all.

Doing well to gloss over that, Davos then continued on, "If we don't put aside our enmities and band together we will die. And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne."

"If it doesn't matter you might as well kneel," Tyrion tried to convince them. Jon kept his gaze to the floor and shook his head. "Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys. Help her to defeat my sister and together our armies will protect the North."

"I don't know what it is that you and your queen don't understand, Lord Tyrion," Aza intervened. "We cannot give you our men because we cannot afford to _lose_ any of them."

"She's right, and there's no time for that. There's no time for any of this. While we stand here debating—"

"It takes no time to bend the knee," continued the Lannister. "Pledge your sword to her cause."

"And why would I do that?" Jon, long since finished with going in circles, then turned to Daenerys. _"_ I mean no offense, Your Grace, but I don't _know_ you. As far as I can tell your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name and my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King. The lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them and I will continue to do so as well as I can."

"That's fair. It's also fair to point out that I'm the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Massaging her temples, Aza could feel the oncoming threat of a headache. This was going nowhere fast. She was tempted to go right back on their boat, to their ship and sail right back home to Winterfell. "By declaring yourself king of the northernmost kingdom, you are in open rebellion." A man quickly entered the throne room, bald of head and draped in the black of House Targaryen. Aza thought he looked familiar, but sooner dismissed the thought as he whispered in the Dragon Queen's ear.

Whatever it is that the man came to inform her, it was likely important because her expression became rather bleak. "You must forgive my manners," formally said Daenerys. "The three of you must be tired after your long journey. We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms."

She turned away from them, speaking in Dothraki to what could be assumed to be her Queensguard. Aza wished she knew the language, at least a fraction of it, because she was more than sure that Daenerys was speaking about them and hadn't desired for them to know. Aza glared fiercely at the guard that stepped forward to escort them to their guest-chambers, and he gave her an amused look in return. Ghost trotted along with them, forcing the guard to keep some distance because he hadn't trusted the direwolf.

Before they left, Jon still had only one thing left to say, "Am I your prisoner?" The question left Aza curious as to what Daenerys' answer would be.

"Not yet," she simply said, making her way back to her throne. Aza groaned loudly, tired from head-to-toe, though she surmised she would have hard time sleeping in this strange place for however long they were forced to be here.

Once the doors to the throne room shut behind them, Aza turned to her husband and spoke through gritted teeth; "I told you not come here. I knew it was a terrible idea." After today's events, she will constantly remind Jon of the utter failure they endured until they were old and grey.

"How was I to know that she would be so stubborn?" His annoyance over the matter was loud and clear in his voice. "I thought she might be reasonable. I _thought_ she would give us a fair chance. I didn't know being the one and only ruler of Westeros would be that important to her,"

Taking her frustrations out him wouldn't help. She would rather them not argue, they'd had enough of that. "You shouldn't stress yourself, My Queen," Davos spoke tenderly. "You have a child to think of."

"I only act like this _because_ I have a child to think of," Aza said, exasperation and anger in her voice. "I want to do whatever I can to make sure they survive. I'll do whatever is necessary. I simply cannot stand the thought that they won't live past the Winter. If the the Night King succeeds in marching south, my child will more than likely d—"

Jon halted his steps, gripping tightly to her shoulders once he spun her to face him. "We can't think like that," he reminded her, his voice somehow firm and soft all at once. "Once we start doubting everything, we're as good as dead." It was true, what he said. It would seem like she was giving up before the fighting even began, and what good was that? "This is why we fight, for _their_ future. For _all_ of ours."

Her paranoia died, thankfully, and all she could do was give a slow nod. "You're right. I'm sorry for acting out," she apologized. Her emotions were quick to go haywire as of late, and it was both stressful as it was relieving. She normally bottled things up until she couldn't anymore, but now she could fall into a fit of anger or cry on cue, if she wanted. Aza hated to think it was all the fault of her pregnancy, though the Maester suggested she would have her occasional up and downs as far as her emotions were concerned.

The Dothraki guard stopped in front of one door and turned to look at them impassively. "Your room, Lord and Lady of North." Aza didn't have the strength for defiance, she only accepted it and let Jon open the door and lead them in with Ghost along with them.

Blindly, Aza stumbled to a chair and sank down. Her legs were sore, her feet even more sore, and she more than dreamed of a hot bath and a few hours of rest. But she would rather be in the comforts of Winterfell than this dark and dreary Dragonstone. Jon sat opposite of her and then patted his lap. "C'mon, give 'em here." She always felt sensitive about her feet, mostly because they were the most ticklish part of her body. Stubborn, she shook her head, but it amounted to nothing since he grabbed one ankle and pulled off the heeled boot and peeled off the thin socks. She yelped right when he pressed both his thumbs to the center of her feet, half out of the pain and the other because it tickled.

"Jon," she whispered. "I think… I think it's moving." His eyes grew wide. He lifted his hand, biting at the tip of his glove to tug it off frantically and dropped it down as soon it was free against her stomach.

"It's been that long?" It's rare, to see Jon so awestruck, making him look boyish than the man and King he is. His hand steadily pressed against the swell and because he felt uncomfortable, he kneelt himself down onto the floor in front of her. His eyes roamed all over her protruding stomach, trying to catch the any slightest bit of movement that his hand couldn't feel. Growing impatient, he rested his cheek against it and closed his eyes for a time. It's only then that a grin comes across his face and their child decides on its own accord to move again.

"Hello." His voice is soft, faint, and it cracked with emotion. "I cannot wait to meet you."

There was delight in her smile, but it was short-lived when three successive knocks were at their door. They exchanged a look, both curious as to who would come to see them. He motioned for her to stay while he went to the door and opened it by a quarter until he got a glimpse of who it was. "I'm not disturbing the two of you, am I?" Tyrion isn't unwelcomed, but neither is she in the mood to debate with him about bending any knees.

"No, you're not." It's a lie, but she supposed Jon didn't want to share this tender moment with anyone else. "Did you need something, My Lord?"

"Yes, I'd like to talk with you for a moment, if your wife doesn't mind." She did, but she decided not to upstart an argument.

"Just as long as you bring him back in one piece," Aza teased, although she meant what she said indefinitely. "Should he lose a strand of hair, you'll know my wrath."

"I honestly believe you mean that," Tyrion replied in good fun. "So yes, your Jon Snow, will be return. All hairs intact, too."

Jon turned to look at her once, his smile small and his eyes telling her he wouldn't be gone for very long. She let him go with a nod as he shut the door, leaving her and Ghost in this strange place they're made to sleep in. The white wolf kept sniffing at things, casually taking in his surroundings and rather unamused about all that he found. "You hate this place, don't you?" His red eyes looked away from the vanity he was currently curious of and at her. "Dragonestone? Dragon _hell_ is more like it."

Ghost doesn't say anything, not one bark or snarl or anything to suggest that he was invested in her conversation. With a sigh, she raised her barefoot and frowned at the sight of it. It was swollen, not monstrously as it could become, but enough to tell her that she should stay off her feet for a while until it went down. Still, the thought of staying in this room alone made her skin crawl. "How about the garden, Ghost?"

His ears twitched at the sound of the mention of the garden and within an instant, Ghost went towards the door and waited for her. With a scoff, she playfully rolled her eyes. "Oh, so you're only invested in what I have to say when you get something out of it? How _rude_." As if saddened, his ears pressed down flat on his head, but she knew it was for show. He wasn't hurt by her fussing, he'd just like to pretend to be in order to be babied. She wouldn't fall for it, not this time. Slipping back on her sock and her heeled boot, she clambered to her feet and was surprised that the discomfort she felt wasn't too overwhelming.

Aza did her best to remember what Shireen told her of Dragonstone. Her memory was foggy, being that it was long ago, but she said something about Aegon's Garden being under the arch of the Dragon's Tail. Just where was the Dragon's Tail? She had no idea. It took some mindless wandering, a lot of getting lost and scratching her head after retracting steps, but eventually she found it after refusing to ask for any help and glaring at any Dothraki or Unsullied that watched her every movement.

It was beautiful, Aegon's Garden. In one inhale, she got the pleasant scent of pine and sweet floral that cut through the smell of Blackwater bay surrounding them. The garden was quiet and relatively empty, much to her surprise and pleasure. The wild roses looked to be withering, likely due to the season. Some were still pristine, a lovely sight to behold, but saddening to know they wouldn't survive for very long. Ghost began to meander around, leaving her for a time to explore. She hadn't mind, she was too fixated on the small portion of the garden that was boggy and had twined tendrils of cranberries growing.

With little struggle, she bent down and reached to touch the soft, muddy dirt. She used to like getting dirty as a child, always finding fun in climbing trees, swimming in ravines, and rolling in mud. There was never a dull moment in the Isles when she roamed, feeling free and untroubled by the likes of anything; blissfully unaware of the world and what it would come to throw at her. Aza knew it was wishful thinking to hope her child could have the same kind of childhood that she had.

"My daughter used to love the bogs," said a strangely familiar voice. "There was never a day she came home not caked in mud." Aza immediately straightened her legs to stand upright, her heart pounding in her chest. "She liked to pick the cranberries that grew there, shoving them in her mouth as if she was never fed before. She was a greedy, little thing; short and fat but all mine." Almost afraid she had been imagining this all in her head, she finally turned around.

Stepping from the shadows of the tall dark trees, the sun illuminated a woman's face. If she hadn't seen her, Aza might've denied that it was her despite her voice being the same. Thirteen years have gone, and somehow she hasn't changed at all. Tall and lissome, still in the prime of youth, her was skin a smooth and a rich deep, dark brown. Her head, still full of thick hair, was tightly coiled and wiry curls with all the strands so densely packed together. It felt like a dream, a sweet and heartbreaking dream, that reduced Aza to that girl of seven all over again.

 _"The dragons have paid their dues to your mother. She will be given all of what she is owed by them."_

Large teardrops spilled down her face as she took one monumental step forward. One step became two and then three before she ran, elation giving her wings. Her unbound hair streamed behind her, feet making almost no sound as they touched the earth. Before she knew it, she fell into a pair of open and long arms, that enveloped her in an embrace that time would've loved to erase from her memories.

"How I missed you, my little love."

* * *

 **A/N** : Someone PM'd me saying Aza's got 99 problems and Melisandre ain't one ( after the last chapter). And honestly? I'm still laughing so hard.

That finale was _something_ , huh? Is it me or does the show enjoy making Jon a horrible king? He made terrible decisions after terrible decisions. I guess when Sansa told him not to make stupid choices like Robb and their father was some sort of foreshadowing? Lol.

But wow, Aegon? Rhaegar named _two_ of his kids Aegon? ...What...explanation will the show come up with for that? Do I even _want_ to hear it? Probably not. I was really rooting for either Aemon or Jaehaerys.

I can't believe that canonically, it takes two months to sail from White Harbor to King's Landing/Dragonstone. No wonder why the show was like "Lol let's speed this the hell up" because there would have to be at least three episodes of them sailing.

I was going to release this chapter a lot sooner, but I had a hard time choosing whose point of view I was going to go with for the pregnancy reveal. Oh, and I omitted Jon choking LF. I changed my mind and had Ghost do the job, and I feel very satisfied with that. Doesn't mean it didn't happen, it did, but I just didn't write it because it would've been the same scene, LF wouldn't dare mention her after that.

xenocanaan: Thank you! c: I hope you enjoyed this one as well!

CupcakeLoopy: I'm glad I surprised you. It's hard to surprise people now. Lol. That also made this chapter take so long for me to write; I was debating if she should stay at Winterfell or Dragonstone. If she told Jon she was pregnant before the meeting, he would've made her stay in Winterfell and she wouldn't have much of a choice. She's pregnant with the King's heir, so nobody would agree to it. Ohohoho, you saw that conflict between her and Dany right away, and meeting her mom. See? It's ahard tos surprise you all.

I only left tidbits of what the bannermen thought, even though I almost went a whole few pages about it. But this chapter was long enough and I didn't want to drag it.

PadfootCc: She finally did it, and I hope you enjoyed it. c:

lilnightmare17: I hope you enjoyed this one.

lovinurbuks: c: If I wanted things to go smoothly, I had to hurry up with this wedding or else...They wouldn't have gotten married until Spring. You know, I was half tempted to have that army be someone else, but we've had enough people dying at weddings.

Omg, wow, really? Thank you. I'm so slow updating it, but its the one I'm working on next.

snowflake2410: Believe me when I say I was tempted to do it. I was so close to doing it until I was like "nah, no more bloody weddings." All your questions have been answered, and I don't want you to cry! Well, maybe a little. I never been called a fairy before, but I shall bask in your praise and your glitter!

Shannon: Reviews likes this still make me cry, I honestly. Yes, I think its hard to find Jon x WoC, but it is easy for Robb x WoC. I think I said it to someone before that Robb gets all the foreign girls. The ones I could recommend, they're not finished/years old and I fear they might not be updated. But I will if I find any! Sansa has a lot of fans, even a fan in me, so I understand how you feel. I think seasons five and six and now seven made her fans grow, so I hardly see terrible things about her like before. I don't think it was so much as a her girlishness/fighting, it was how naive and downright mean she could be to Arya. But they're sisters, the sun and the moon as Ned said. I don't know why people can't accept that some girls strength is by other means.

Oh, you don't need to read the books to know about Aza's father. It is really going to be up to my interpretation since there isn't a lot to go on, book-wise anyway. So don't worry about that and don't be sorry! I understood everything you said. c:

Guest1: He finally knows! No more secrets.

Amelia: "The Old Gods and the New" but no mention of R'hllor, when he's the one that brought our Jon Snow back. Lmao. I couldn't invest so much into reactions because I KNOW I would've taken it too far. But we're going to get a lot of Jon ruminating about Aza's father, and this was just the beginning. It was not my intention to make you cry! Please, don't cry.

Rhyming With Oranges: I'm sad that his other sword doesn't have a name, so I went with Dusk. It's a bit cliche, now that I think about it but... I can't imagine it named anything else right now. It still makes me ugly cry that Ned has Ned's hairstyle and similar clothing, even though now the show is retconning with Beric saying he looks like his mother. I mean, of course he looks like his mother, she's a Stark but Jon doesn't know that? So it's, like, what does he do with this information? And then seasons 1-6 everyone says he looks like Ned. Catelyn hates that he looks like Ned. So I don't know why they thought that a clever idea.

A. Alice-LaCasse : You knew it. You definitely knew it. You were among many of the firsts to guess it. I like how you thought about how Dany is going to feel about Aza being Arthur's father, I couldn't invest in going into detail with this chapter, but I definitely am the next. The next chapter is going to be a whole lot about Aza, Arthur, and her mother. You can finally get some insight, and am I crazy enough to do flashbacks of Lyanna, Rhaegar, Arthur, and Nahla? Likely, very likely. c:

He had a lot to soak in. He was a bit all over the place, considering a lot has happened so far. LF's strength is spilling tea, but now Bran is not the king of spilling tea. As Issac said, he's Winterfells CCTV. Well, I can't say anything, but that she'll be in Winterfell by then. c:

Thank you for being a devoted reader! Ah, I'm gonna cry.

pscyhosae: I'm glad you're glad and I hope you liked this one.

pikapyon: Arthur is Aza's father, it is known.

ksjdfjsajsdklajdjkaLD my happiness. Honestly, don't even say that because that will make my head big. And the show is kind of being a hypocrite to its own writing. I don't know what happened this season. I mean, some parts were good and other parts were "huh?" Well, I've come to understand why. Like, a lot of episodes would just have been focused on travel because these ravens have SUPER wings. Lol. Aza's background is going to be the main focused in the next chapter. Like, there's a LOT going to happen now that her mother is here to drop some truth bombs.

shy-lady: You know what, I totally understand what you mean by that and have been guilty of dropping fics because of the same thing. I really am happy that I waited this long for her to be pregnant, and the timing is suitable since she won't miss any of the action because this baby will be here before the Night King comes to fuck things up. But I guess Daenerys will likely have a pregnancy storyline the next season. They kept hinting at children, but knowing these writers... She'll likely be put on the backburner throughout most of it and I'm just not for that with Aza at all. I'm not sure what Aza would've gain out of a miscarriage because I thought about it, and I don't see how she would've grown for that or what such a storyline would've did for her other than just add more tragedy to Aza and Jon's storyline, and Jon already is just tragedy all way round. Oh yeah, it was going to be a battle until the very last minute I decided it not to be. They're by all means officially married. I mean they didn't consummate it that night, but she's pregnant and Old God weddings are typically short. He was just going to carry her into the Great Hall for the reception and Aza's dream of Jon untangling rope-knots would've happened, but I crushed it. So, by all means officially married, but the ceremony was just cut short. I almost didn't meet the twice a month quota for this story. Lmao. I was dangerously close on going back what I said. Once or twice a year? How do you not forget them? I do, even with email notification. I saw! I saw. Lol. Now you have to wait again.

Nobody really trusts Littlefinger, though. I think the books did a good job making him look not so obvious, but I went with the show's route where "this guy is fucking sneaky, ok?"Jon is really out here wearing Ned's House of Stark fashion line, and makes me sad sad scream. Both Jon and Arya have been sporting his hairstyle, too! You can tell that they were closest to him just by that alone.

And after getting an entire grasp of this season, I'm really on the road of deviating because some things... Some things I just don't like. I can't believe you google'd Rhaegar's friends, and now I'm thinking of them as a group now. JonCon, RobertB, and Arthur were the three main guesses. So, I'm glad that the mystery was well kept. But who Arthur is now based on my writing because you don't know much, if anything at all about him. So don't worry about that, and that makes me happy since I already imagine him a certain way. Don't be sorry, long reviews are amazing. It lets me know you're invested!

They're reunion is nigh, and it is only just beginning.

Lt-Spork89: I hope you enjoyed this one. c:

xoxo: I'm sorry, but it's here! No more waiting.  
Oh, this is only just beginning because Aza and the rest of Westeros still don't know that someone else is and this child are Targaryens. So there's a lot to look forward to.  
Deanfang: I wish it was Dawn, but no! Arthur, show-wise, had two swords. The other was never named, so I gave it Dusk. Dawn would've been too obvious on my part, and that means Ned would've never returned it to Starfall, and I wanted to keep that canon.

1MoreInMe1: I hope it does! For my sake!

Guest2: Stay hype because there's a lot more to come.

Alice Williams: You did! Haha, and I tried to make you keep doubting it. And it is finally revealed.

You hit it right on the end. Daenerys and Aza are having a very, very rocky start.

kate langdon: I'm glad I kept making you doubt yourself because it still hyped you up! ( I saw Jon/Dany coming a mile away, but that's the books are dropping super hints about it - so I can see why people who only watch the show are like ? wtf? because the show did a terrible job of showing that Jon/Dany are supposed to "fated" to be together. It feels very forced, very random, and the build up was lackluster. Although I don't support incest esp since genetic wise, due to all the inbreeding, they're just as related to one another as brother and sister...I bet GRRM is going to do a better job at selling it than the show did. Hell, I've seen Jon/Dany fanfiction that sold it a thousand times better but I digress ) I'm blushing, I'm gushing. Ahhhhhh!

I don't know if it is a fan-name or not, but I'm sticking with it!

Guest3: Hohoho, everything you said has come true.

Says-the-Slytherin: I'm glad you love the story! And I'm glad, just a little, you were right. Because I like the shock. She finally found a way, probably not the way she would've liked. But she did. I, myself, can't wait until Aza meets Arya, I'm so prepared for this. You don't even know.

Kelly: That chapter was a lot, I agree. It could've been the perfect wedding, but I just couldn't find myself able to do it. I love chaos. You know, I really did consider some terrible people, but you and I had the same thoughts! I put her through enough, and I certainly put her mother through enough. House Dayne is pretty chill, they're just all about their Swords of the Morning and Evenings. I mean, they're just as tragic as House Stark, but has them beat with only two surviving main branch members. I don't count their cousin and I dunno if Darkstark will appear in this story because UGH, he's going to be a shithead like he is in the books. And I love writing terrible people, but I don't know how he'll fit. And because the show isn't coming back until 2019, I'm likely going to do Jon's reveal my OWN way because I'm probably not going to like how the show is going to go about it. This chapter is FULL of angst.

You always got it, but chaos. I'm... not going to say anything because Tormund definitely has something to say about that during their little trip over the Wall. If the show isn't going to love Ghost, I WILL. He is everywhere. I don't remember either, I just know we got a short clip of him just being a happy sweetheart in Winterfell. I think he was sitting outside in some snow, just happy, but that wasn't enough. And look, you didn't even mean to guess it, but that's exactly what I did. LOL.

I totally agree with you. I'm not sure what they were trying to go for half of the time, but it just fell short. I'm not even short why they made this season short when it would've been in their favor to make it longer. It literally hindered them. And I agree with you, Jon/Dany was rushed and that whole "meant to be" or "they stare longing at each other" was just... "where?" Other people had to mention how much Dany/Jon stare at one another because WE never get to see it. The only thing D&D right as far as their own way of romance was probably Robb/Talisa. It felt more believable than Jon/Dany and its strange considering the books constantly keep building it up, so they had the source material of making this right.

I've been having so much rain lately, but its not worth it because it spikes the humidity. The days feel like hell here. I would love to switch with you. Lol. Did you like Hardhome Pt.2? I call it the boy's trip/the boys cracking open a cold one. Oh, and happy belated birthday. I would've said it on the day of, but I have been pushing this chapter waaaaaaaay back.

KatarinaFoster: He finally knows, and he gets a touching moment.

Musical Bear: It is never intentional, I swear it. I never timed these things, I always prefer thing happening when it feels right, and all those times strangely felt right to me. At least this wasn't so bad this time. They've caught a very minor break.

It's not Tormund if it is not petty. You should feel bad for him because I certainly did, but I knew that would never fly under any circumstance unless Aza, herself, was a Wildling. But Davos has earned the name Dadvos; he's adopting so many children along the way. Jon, Lyanna M, Gendry, and more.

Surprisingly enough, I really did make it months. The pacing drove me insane, that I just couldn't do it.

I'm glad that even with the hints, you're still surprised! I'm going with brown-haired show Arthur because I loved the actor, despite the few lines he had. And it isn't canon what color hair he has, people just draw him plat-blond, blond or dark-haired because its a defining trait to House Dayne. Ashara has dark hair, Allyria we don't know but its assumed she has dark hair, Ned/Edric is blonde and Gerold is silver haired.

Ahhhhhhhh, I'm so happy to hear that. I'm glad you love her. She's fun to write as well as difficult, considering her personality feels like a handful at times.

Wishfulhamadryad: Thank you! Ahh, I'm happy you love it. My inspiration for this story really came from Jon's ideal type. "A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her." Which I guess is now Daenerys in show-canon. Lol. I'm glad you feel that way. Ahhhhhhh! There's no higher compliment than all of what you said. I mean, Jon is is broody and sullen, so I imagine it does get tough to sell you a person that could fit him, but I'm glad that you feel Aza does.

Serenity10116: All your questions have been surprisingly answered in one chapter!


	28. Chapter 27: Induratize

**NAHLA**

Her only wish in life was that Aza would never see the world through her eyes. It was why she filled her daughter's head with excitement and possibilities, leaving all the fears of danger and uncertainty within herself. Perhaps that was the reason why Aza never feared walking beneath the moon and stars, for the dark did not frighten her. Why should the darkness hold any peril when her mother never warned her of it? Aza, as a child, thrived in adventure and the river-scented breeze of Jhala under a sun that never leaves for long. Flowing in her veins was the blood of Summer and the Andals of the Red Mountains of Dorne; Summer Islanders cherished the fruits of life while the Daynes cherished life itself. And as Nahla hoped to shield that innocence, she was forced to shatter it when they were made to part. From that day onward, life was not fun and free nor of sweet songs that a mother sings when it's time to return home or for bed. Ten years ago, Nahla had unknowingly shattered the illusion that the world was kind as she had once made it seem.

But even with all the trials and tribulations that only life can serve, Aza's eyes still shined the same. They remained clear, unwavering, wide and bright. Those were the very same eyes that tore her heart to shreds anew whenever she would look at them and lie. And even though the shade of them differed, they were truly Arthur's eyes staring straight back at her. He still lived, never again in flesh and soul, but through their child that forever kept them together in both and life and death. He hid himself in Aza's eyes, in the shape of her nose, in the pattern of which her hair grows, and within the strength that only he possessed. When his soul was exhausted, he was kind enough to leave himself in traces as well as memories.

 _"I fear for her…"_

Arthur had once whispered those words in what felt like a lifetime ago. Her memories of him never lost their brightness despite how years and death separated them now. She could remember him as if he was standing before her, every detail and curve of his face unforgotten. The years between Harrenhal and the Tower of Joy remained so vivid in Nahla's mind as if she was still that young girl of nineteen once more. She sometimes wondered if it was because she was never meant to forget. The gods had fashioned that she would never be rid of the happiness, the agony, and the sorrow that colored those years.

 _"Her?"_

 _"Our child, Nahla. I never hoped to have a daughter."_

 _"And why is that? Is it so terrible to father a girl, Arthur? Do you love her less because she is no son for you to teach the blade? No son to carry on your name?"_

 _"You know me better than that. When has this world ever been kind to little girls? When has it not taken from them or broken them?"_ The look he gave her had made her feel as though her heart had been thrown to against a stone wall. _"It's worst when a girl is strong, and I know she will be. She is yours and mine, so she'll have strength. The world will tell her that she is fragile, though she is not."_

 _"Then she will change the world."_ She can't quite remember if she only said that to calm his fears or her own. _"Her father is stubborn and her mother is resourceful, she will use her strength to make a way."_ If he were alive now, Nahla would've taken his hand and gently remind him how she always proved to be right. A small victory compared to all the battles they've lost. _"But how are you so certain our child is a girl?"_

He gave no answer. All she was given was the smile she loved, the one that makes his dimples visible. The one where his eyes are warm and looked as if they glowed. It was as if the stars had fallen from the sky so that they could shine in his eyes because they could no longer wait for the night. _If you could see her, Arthur…_ In small circles, Nahla rubbed her weeping daughter's back. "I've never seen you cry this much before," she said teasingly. Aza was always a stubborn child. She would save her tears when she was left alone, swallowing the sobs that climbed up her throat. She abhorred crying before the eyes of others. "If that little one in your belly is anything as you were, they'll toss all hours of the night because you've ruined their rest."

Aza fought away the urge to laugh as she stood upright. The back of her fingers soon swept away her tears, much different than the small and closed fists that used to mash them away. It was amusing as well as heartwrenching to watch the stark difference of what she would have done at ten than what she does now at twenty. "Where were you?" asked Aza after two heartbeats of quiet, her voice barely above a whisper. She had yet to lift her eyes to meet hers, she kept them lowered as if she were shy.

"Meereen." The days were kinder there. "My master owned a clinic and had me work alongside him." Before that, she was a dancer in Yunkai. She did not have the heart neither the courage to speak of those days and so she forced herself to pretend they never existed.

Aza had no words for her, only a stiff nod. It was clear that she was afraid to ask what she endured despite her obvious curiosity. Nahla hadn't lost her gift of reading Aza's emotions as if she were an open book. "Lord Tyrion said you were a sellsword and was punished to live out the remainder of your life at the Wall. How did that come to be? Did Salif not take care of you as he promised me?"

"If you could call it taking care of someone," spat Aza. Her demeanor quickly shifted, her hands gripped onto the skirts of her dress as her eyes sheened with an array of emotions. "The gold the slavers gave us barely lasted us a good year. Salif gambled it all away and threw me to the docks to work. The pirates paid him if I smuggled decent goods."

"I was good at it… And Flys—Dusk had scared many people away, even when I didn't know how to properly use it. During one of my runs in King's Landing, a man named Hadrian Rivia saw me at the harbor and offered me to join his sellsword company. I didn't think… I said yes because I wanted to learn how to protect myself. I wanted to grow strong and wealthy so that I could sail to Essos and find you…"

In the moment, a flash of anger protected Nahla from the throes of guilt. She had failed herself. She had failed Arthur. Most of all, she had failed Aza. In her heart, she knew Salif would never love anyone else but himself and gold, and yet she entrusted him with something she held so sacred. And how did he repay her after all she had done for him? By making her child, his niece, suffer. "When Hadrian died, I was blindsided and sold out to the City's Watch…" Aza finished stoically. "I could've been given death but instead they threw me to the Wall."

"And it was at the Wall that you met Jon Snow." Nahla chuckled at how easily Aza became bashful. Her eyes quickly looked away, the corners of her mouth fighting not to curve into a smile. _You had hoped they would be close, Lya. You never thought they would fall in love, did you?_ Nahla thought to herself, the cold memory of the excited grey eyes of a girl of sixteen made her heart ache.

"How did you know to send the Daynes to look for me? Lord Tyrion hadn't known I was a girl." Aza's head tilted curiously, and Nahla wondered if that had been plaguing her thoughts for quite some time.

"I never planned to keep you in the dark about your father forever, Little Love." Nahla sighed heavily, not at all prepared of how Aza would react to the whole truth. Part of her wasn't sure if the entire truth was for her to tell. She had promised long ago that all that took place in the Tower of Joy would never be known to the world to protect a boy who knew nothing of how he came to be and her unborn child. "It was Lord Whent's great tourney in the year of the false spring that he and I met. Purely by accident, really." A laugh spilled from her, dancing the fine line between sweet and bitter. "I was to give the meats to the Kennel Master for the dogs but by chance, I caught Lady Lyanna mounting her horse to run away with Ser Oswell Whent."

Aza stiffened then, her eyes widening in her shock. "Nobody was supposed to see them but I always carried terrible luck. It was Arthur that caught me as I tried to hide in the kennels and it was Lady Lyanna that ordered him not to harm me. They were afraid that I would tell someone of what I saw and so I was forced to go with them because Lady Lyanna refused for my silence to be kept through death. From Harrenhal, we rode to the Isles of Faces where Prince Rhaegar had been waiting."

"So he didn't kidnap her?" Aza asked.

"No, he did not." Nahla had heard that people enjoyed the tale of the Dragon-prince and his lady she-wolf love. She wondered how they would feel if they knew the entire tragedy of it, of how one girl's hopeful dream of adventure and freedom died in the most agonizing way. "Your father would've never aid Rhaegar in kidnapping a girl, no matter the love he had for him."

"He loved him more than he loved you and me," she said through gritted teeth. "He died for him."

It was easy to see why her daughter had felt that way. That's how it seemed from the outside looking in, though it wounded her to know that Aza had grown to resent Arthur. Her hand swept away a stray strand of hair that danced in front of Aza's face to tuck it neatly behind her ear. "Your father did not die for Rhaegar. He could not die for someone already gone."

"Then why did he die?" She practically whispered the words. "What was so important that he was willing to die?" Again. Must she look into the eyes again and lie? Nahla squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the lump of sorrow in her throat. "Why did he leave us?"

Aza was no longer a child. She would not take silence or distraction as an answer anymore, and she was in the right to not accept it. Nahla took a deep, straggling breath to pull herself together. Once she exhaled, she felt a kiss from the wind against her cheek as soft as a brush from Arthur's thumb. "Your father died so that you could have a future." As vague as it all had sound, it was no further from the truth. "So long as the keeper of that future still lives and breathes, his death will not have been in vain."

Soon enough, Nahla gathered the soft face of the young woman before her and pressed her forehead down against Aza's. "You will soon understand, Little Love. Many fathers and mothers alike would throw their very own lives away to protect their children and the world they have yet to know, even if it hurts them in the process. Your father loved you before he had the chance to know you, at least understand that." It was a heavy thing to ask or rather promise, she knew, for Aza to understand what she could not fully explain just yet.

After a quiet moment, Nahla took a step back and lowered her eyes to the swelling belly that held the life of her grandchild. "My baby is having a baby," Nahla could not stop herself from beaming. "You're a year older than I was when I was with you."

Aza's brown eyes fell to her protruding stomach and she slayed her hand over it affectionately. "I still don't think I'm ready yet to be a mother," she admitted, her fear evident all over her face. "I'm afraid I'm going to mess up and do everything wrong."

"Motherhood is something you learn along the way, Aza." Of that she knew for herself. Nobody or anything could properly prepare you for the ups and downs of raising another human life. It was the most difficult job in the world. "And you're not by yourself, you have me and your husband. This child has a family, one quite bigger than what you and I both have. They are already blessed."

That eased her, if only a little. She calmed down and let out a breath that Nahla had not realized she had been holding. "You're right," she said with a nod. "Speaking of my husband, I'd like for you to meet him. I think you're going to like him but mind you, he's…" Aza sighed and rolled her eyes, a smirk delighting her face. "He's stiff and so bloody grim. There's so much North in him you'll think he has ice in his veins."

The Island woman could not help but cover her mouth as she laughed, her heart singing at the thought. _Rhaegar, did you make your son as melancholic as you once were?_ The dragon prince swiftly crossed her mind. A tall and lean young man with hair silver-gold and eyes so deep and dark that they were not lilac as many Targaryens but a deep indigo instead. The only time she ever saw him at any true peace was when he played his harp, his nimble fingers knew the chords as if they were the strings of his own heart as he created songs that would make even a she-wolf shed tears. Other days, the true Rhaegar burned in the flames ignited by the burdens of a prophecy and by the weight of his family that threatened to consume him and eventually won.

"I'd should like to meet him," Nahla tried to keep her calm, her heart somewhat eager to see how much the baby she bid goodbye in the arms of Ned Stark had grown. "He is my good-son and somehow capable of not going mad after putting up with you." Her fingers pinched her daughter's cheek as it was growing plump due to the effects of pregnancy.

"I was not that monstrous as a child," huffed Aza, trying to tug her face out of Nahla's pinch. "I was better than most children. At least I didn't harm anyone."

"No, you didn't harm anyone." Nahla knew that to be true. "You were too busy harming yourself by chasing monkeys in trees and trying to catch fish in your mouth like bears do."

Her face heated with warmth, obviously embarrassed to be reminded of her wild youth. "Don't tell him any of that, _please_."

"I'll try not to," she hadn't meant it. At least not one bit, it was within Nahla's right to let this Jon Snow know that his wife was a terror.

Hand-in-hand, Aza and Nahla strolled through the garden and eventually back inside the drafty confines of Dragonstone. _I'm going to meet your son, Lya._ Nahla had thought as her eyes could not look away from Aza, who had been telling her of the Starks of Winterfell. _I promise to know everything I can of his life without you and treat him well. I'll have plenty to tell you when life is done with me and I can see you again._

 **RICKON**

Teaching is a lot harder than he thought it would be. He thought it would be easy, just telling someone what to do and they do it, but it isn't that simple. Despite how uncertain he is, he's somehow managed to do good enough to see some improvements from Lyanna over the course of a couple months. He can't exactly say that his teachings deserve all the credit because for one thing, she's smart. Her eyes are always watching, soaking in every little thing that can be noticed. When she sees an opening, she quickly sums up the perfect counter and has even learned how to handle when he tries to confuse her with a faulty strike. Her spearhand is precise, but she's still a bit slow. Her hands can't move as fast as the speed of her mind.

"Don't hold back!" Lyanna shouted at him, breathing so hard that her whole body is moving as she pants. "This fight will be much too real for mere play."

He couldn't fight it, the snort that abruptly left him. Nor can he stop the roll of his eyes and neither the smirk that tugged at his lips. Although she's right and she is a well adept leader, Lyanna's pride truly can't handle him being soft with her after what she said to Lord Glover in Winterfell's Great Hall. No needles for her, she's a fighter. She has to prove her words ring true before the Long Night is here.

He has a shield in one hand and a practicing falchion in the other. It's good practice for him as well. He admired the way Aza and Jon were so adept with the shield that Rickon thought he could learn how to use one, too. It's silly to compare himself to seasoned warriors, but he cannot help but want to follow their footsteps. Rickon had grown tired of looking at backs; of his father, Robb's, Bran's, Osha's, and Jon and Aza's. He will look at no one's back again because he will be in the front lines alongside them this time.

"All right," Rickon assured her. Lyanna readied herself, sliding her foot back and falling into a defensive stance. "Whenever you're ready."

He hefted the sword again, twirling the weapon a few times to frighten those that were watching. The young boys and girls of Bear Island's flinched at the sight of his technique, but Lyanna stood firm. She isn't so easily frightened by his tricks despite it's her that'll be cracked and bruised if she doesn't do well.

He pushed off, charging forward and leaving behind his boot imprinted in the snowy ground. As she should, she waited for him, completely patient and still. Because she's a spearwoman, she has to know exactly when to dodge and when to deflect. It's a game of chance, he taught her. With his shield held low, protecting his left, he swung down the falchion when his feet are firmly planted.

She has two options; dodge or deflect. If she dodges, she'll suffer the momentum he created and it'll slam right into her, putting her off-balance as he aimed to do. If she deflects, well, she had better put all her strength into it. Lyanna caught the blade of his sword with the body of her spear, the cracking sound of the blunted edge of the practice sword meeting the wooden body of her spear rung out. Her arms began buckling as she attempted to slough the force of it off and back towards him. Because he is stronger, Rickon cannot be moved and so she jumped back on the cuff, thrusting the blunt end of the spear that is capped in metal to imitate a heavy blade. She made sure to move quickly so that he wasn't expecting it.

The young Stark's shield, however, is perfectly in place and so the blow bounces off more or less in his favor than hers. With a stumble, Rickon observed the flash of desperate strategy flitting across her eyes. He can tell, at this very moment, she realized she's going to need something more to win this if she can, and riskier attacks might be what she has to resort to. The spear came back at him again in an upward thrust instead of the side. He ducked underneath, aiming to move his way behind her for the finishing blow. Surprisingly, Lyanna found the opportune moment to flick her wrist to purposely hit his shield to distract him by pretending it was a mid-swing when really, she aimed for a spin to get a low sweep at his ankles.

For the first time, Lyanna nearly had him. Before she could get her spear all the way around and through, he performed a swift kick to her left knee from behind. She was going to fall face forward in the snow and part of him thought to let her. Lyanna did not want to be protected nor guarded, she wanted to be treated as an equal and a contender. His right hand dropped the sword and shot forward anyway, gripping the back of her heavy furred tunic over her ringmail, to keep her from hitting the ground. He jerked her back, forcing her to stumble until he took hold of her wrist and pulled her towards him.

"You gave too much away," he explained as she attempted to jerk her arm out of his grasp. Her face was flushed red out of what he presumed to be pure frustration. "What your opponent does with their body gives away what's in their head, remember that." Rickon remembered that being the lesson Aza tried to instill him after he practically ate the dirt of Castle's Black courtyard.

"Don't you go stopping me from falling, Lord Rickon." Lyanna slapped his hand that he had forgot was still holding onto her arm. "If I'm meant to fall then let me." Annoying as she was, he could commend her for wanting to be treated fairly. He saw a reflection of himself for a moment there. "Next time, I'll make sure it's you eating the snow and not me." Her eyes then looked out over to those who were watching, all of them whispering and mumbling words he couldn't comprehend from this distance. "What are you all standing around for? The spar is done, but your practice isn't."

Many of them hurried away from the fence of the training ring, gathering their weapons and running to the straw dummies waiting to be put to use. "You did…" he stumbled a bit with his words, and his line of thought was interrupted when she turned to face him. Stubbornly, he gathered his composure and sneered somewhat. "You did well."

Her stare is deadpanned, though soon enough her lips give into a smile. "But not well enough," she said before looking at her spear. "They said my sister Dacey could take down five grown men when she was my age while I can hardly knock down one boy."

"You almost did." Rickon understood completely, to be engulf by names larger than their own shadows. He was a Stark, the bloodline of her overlords. He had to be better or else they would say the last Stark boy is nothing but a puppy compared to the wolves. The last Stark boy… He harmed himself for thinking that. Bran isn't dead, at least Rickon won't truly believe he is.

"Almost isn't good enough." The Mormont girl shook her head and took in a deep breath, her little shoulders squaring as she slipped back into the skin of Lady Mormont. It reminded him, briefly, when he and Bran would share laughs whenever Robb would put on that voice and face he would make when he ran Winterfell in their father's place. _"There he goes again, all solemn like father. That's not our brother, that's Robb the Lord."_ Bran's voice… He can't quite remember it anymore. The voice he tried to remember doesn't sound familiar no matter how hard he tried to recall it. It was more like some stranger whispering in his head, repeating his brother's words.

"Lord Rickon?" Lyanna pull him out, of his head and of the past. He's brought back to Bear Island, under the grey dove skies and the land coated with snow that sparkles and crunches like sugar.

"What did you say?" Rickon asked, trying to make himself appear nothing like he felt. "I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you were hungry," Lyanna clarified, her thumb mindlessly tapping against the spear's middle. "The cook should've fixed something nice by now."

The taste of blood filled his mouth at the thought of food. This morning, he woke up panting and sweating, his body feeling feverish despite the absence of a fever. All he could taste was blood and raw meat, a kill that Shaggydog had made last night of a rabbit that left his home only to find himself in the jaws of a direwolf. "No," Rickon mumbled, absently shaking his head as his eyes looked over Lyanna's head and towards the direction of where the Wall stood. "Maybe later."

In the distance, Shaggydog howled despite there being no moon. It was a sad song, one that he had heard twice before. With his hand to his chest, Rickon swallowed the sob of what he knew to be the truth.

Another of their pack was gone.

 **JON**

"Sorry to pull you away from your wife," said Tyrion as he poured himself a chalice of wine. Some things don't change, Jon noticed. Years ago when Jon first entered Castle Black with Tyrion in tow, all he wanted to do with sightsee, chat, and drink. He could hardly keep himself completely sober when beer was in the room. Jon made no comment about it, although he wanted to. "I have a surprise for her and I think it's something she should enjoy alone."

"A surprise?" Jon asked, his brows furrowing curiously. He may have trusted the Lannister, but nothing made him more nervous than someone whisking Aza away without telling him anything about it. Not only that, the Dothraki wandered about Dragonstone unsupervised and they already made it clear that he and Aza were not a welcomed sight.

"Wine?" Tyrion proffered an empty cup. Jon shook his head, not having the desire for Dornish red after hearing Tyrion's plan that had not been fully explained. "Very well, more for me. I suppose beer would've been the better option." He placed the cup back on the desk before picking up his chalice. "Her mother is here," he finally explained. "She was in Meereen and came with us to Westeros."

His eyes fell to the ground, and his mind was swept away with thought. More than anyone, Jon knew just how elated Aza must be to see her. He was almost annoyed by the fact that he couldn't have been there to see the reunion of mother and daughter. Tyrion was right, though. Aza deserved this time alone with the woman she had been missing for so long. Jon would have his chance to meet her, and he felt more or less nervous about it. Will she like him? Will she hate him? After all, his father killed Ser Arthur.

"Is she well?" Jon couldn't help but asked.

"She's the picture of health as far as I know. A bit sad, though, but aren't we all?" Tyrion said with a strange smile. "You feel the same as I do, don't you? You cannot help but to be envious. I certainly am, in a way. I thought I've learned to kill any feelings about my own mother but once it's brought up in this way… Well, there's no stopping them."

Jon certainly understood and even the boy within himself that he killed, echoed that familiar grief. Both he and Tyrion had never known their mothers, and the same could be even said for the Targaryen queen. "We had our fathers, so isn't it only fair?"

" _You_ had your father," Tyrion made clear. "The same cannot be said for me. Yours kept you and called you his son because he wanted to and not because he was forced. We were outsiders, yes, but you were at least loved."

"I didn't mean to—" Jon tried to apologize, but the Lannister lord shook his head.

"You're not the malicious kind, I know." After a sip of his wine, Tyrion made his way towards the balcony. He might've needed the sea air, to breathe and forget. It had slipped Jon's mind that the last time Tyrion was in Westeros, he was wanted for the murder of both Joffrey and his lord father. Too much has happened for it all to be a crystal clear memory. "It's good to see this war for the throne finally letting families be together than keeping them apart or killing them. Gods only know enough blood has been shed, let's have some peace before more is spilled."

"It must be difficult for you to have your brother as your enemy." It was always made clear that Cersei never loved him and Tyrion had no love for her in return.

Tyrion's green eyes fell to this reflection in the wine. "Part of me hopes that I can talk him out of it, but I know nothing I say will deter him. He would do anything for Cersei… He would even start a war for her." He looked almost hesitant and even a little guilty, leaving the topic at hand with no further words. Jon furrowed his brows at this and his mind became addled with speculations of what it was that Tyrion refused to say. "While I may not be able to persuade my family, I'm sure if given the right words I can surely make you see how swearing to Daenerys is the right thing to do."

"I cannot be bothered with oaths," said Jon. "My mind is on the North, not in your petty wars. I have a child on the way, Tyrion. A child that might not live through the Winter if I don't do something about the threat closing in."

"You're very adamant about this." Did he still not believe him? What else could he do or say to make him understand. "I don't understand how uniting the kingdoms is not a better plan. If what you say is true, we need all seven of the kingdoms together."

"Because we have such little time." He wished there was a way to know when the Night King was coming. If he could measure the distance between that White Walkers and the Wall, he'd do anything to find out. "How long will it take? Once we finished fighting each other, the Night King and his army will have already made it to Westeros." That frightened him more. To be fighting in the South, leaving Sansa and Rickon with all of their people to fend for themselves in the North. "Winter is here and it will not wait. Not for you, not for Daenerys, and not for Cersei."

It was a sigh, certainly one of defeat that left Tyrion. "You Starks and your stubbornness." Again, Tyrion had likened him to a Stark. "I don't take you for a liar Jon Snow, but I cannot convince Daenerys to abandon the throne for a threat that is not already at her door."

"I've seen that for myself," Jon replied. "I will take the dragonglass and do what I must with or without your queen."

The Lannister nodded before washing down some of his wine. "Yes, the dragonglass. Have fun mining that out." Jon couldn't help but to slightly snort at Tyrion playful jab. "It's so dark in here, I can't imagine how darker it is below this place. It's dreadful."

"It isn't so bad," he said while looking around the place. "The darkness suits it well."

"Of course you of all people would say that." The Lannister lord rolled his eyes. "Winterfell, dark. Castle Black, dark. Everywhere you lay your head is dark."

Before Jon could utter another word, the sound of the door opening broke the lightheartedness that filled the room. It was a Dothraki, his golden eyes not once taking notice of him for the only person he had sought was Tyrion. "Khaleesi wants to speak to you," was all he said.

"I was expecting that," Tyrion mumbled to himself before finishing the wine from his chalice and placing it down on the table's surface. "Well, I believe it'll be some time before either one of us will be free. Me with my war and you with your dragonglass and pregnant wife."

All the King of the North could do was nod, his smile small but there nonetheless. "Try not to overthink," he jested.

"I don't know if you have suddenly forgotten, Jon Snow, but overthinking is what I'm good at." Tyrion had quickly crossed the threshold and followed behind the Dothraki warrior.

Seeing as there was no reason for him to stay, Jon left as well and walked down the opposite hall. Dragonstone proved to be a bit of a maze, but he surely found his way back to the chambers he would be staying in much faster than he thought. It hadn't helped that Dothraki and Unsullied alike thought themselves well-hidden and watched him with every turn he made. He knew Daenerys didn't exactly trust him but what could he hope to accomplish in doing anything reckless when he was well aware of her large army and three dragons?

But his footsteps slowly came to a halt as his pregnant wife's laughter bounced off the walls of Dragonstone's hall. He slowly turned around to see her taking idle steps with a tall and willowy woman that did not look as if she had aged a day over thirty. She had skin that was a deep and dark brown, favoring the people of the Summer Isles that Aza rarely but dreamily spoke about as if the very idea of them was like some fantasy that no person would never understand until they've been to the sandy beaches of the Isles themselves. Unlike Aza, her face was diamond-shaped and her eyes favored those of a cat with their irises such a dark brown that they appeared black.

Greatly could Jon pick up on the resemblance between the two, and show how much they favored each other that there was no doubt that they were both mother and daughter. Aza's smile was a true reflection of the woman beside her. He didn't mean to intrude them, at least not yet. As Tyrion suggested, they deserved a good amount of time alone together before he should properly meet her but it had been too late. Aza's mother had noticed him before he could properly slip away and leave the two of them be.

Had he imagined it or did she become statuesque once she properly took him in? The reaction nearly startled him, and now he was left unsure of what was the right way to greet her. He had not prepared himself well for this and he didn't want to come across foolish. With blatant uncertainty, Jon simply bowed his head towards her to show respect. "There you are!" Naturally, Aza's beaming face made his uneasiness dissipate. How could he feel nervous when she was practically glowing and so happy? Like a child would, she tugged her mother's arm to hurry the woman along. She finally moved, if only for the sake of not having her arm yanked out of its socket. "This my mother, Nahla Rhadas."

Nahla, yes. The name fit to memory and he luckily didn't almost make a mistake. She had an easier name than the other Summer Islanders he heard about, thank the gods. "Your Grace," she addressed him, much to his surprise, and she even curtsied. It was too late, his shaking hand did not make it known in time that she did not have to do such a thing. This was embarrassing, at least on his part. This woman was his good-mother now, there was never no need for her to address him as a king. Then again, Jon hardly liked to be addressed as a king by the likes of anyone after being given the North. "First and foremost, I should like to thank you for taking care of my daughter. I, more than anyone, know firsthand that she is the greatest handful anyone could ever possibly be made to put up with."

"Thank you, Mother." The first thing he felt was heat coming off his wife and her eyes looking as if she wanted to scream. It took everything, everything that Jon Snow could muster, to not laugh. "I always dreamed of the day when my mother is finally given the chance to embarrass me in front of my _dear_ husband." Even as she rolled her eyes and scoffed, he could gather that she very much enjoyed it. That hint of a smile on her face despite the force of her frown was enough to prove her true feelings on the matter.

"I always suspected she was a rowdy and difficult child. I fear our own child might inherit those traits," Jon lightly teased in tandem, if only just to feel a fist hit his arm.

"Say another word and you'll be sleeping _alone_ , Jon Snow." He knew better than to think she actually meant that. Had they been in Winterfell, he would've believed her but not here in Dragonstone with the Dothraki's watchful eyes, dragons soaring the skies, and after their meeting with Queen Daenerys was an utter disaster. She was too paranoid (as was he) to sleep alone after that.

"Are your feet feeling any better,?" Jon inquired, remembering that he barely had the chance to properly massage them due to Tyrion's interruption.

"No, not really." They must've been in pain if she was willing to be honest. "I need to sit down for a bit and I'll be alright."

"Go on," Nahla encouraged her. "I'd like to speak with my good-son for just a moment before I leave you two to get some rest."

Aza nodded, mostly of defeat, before giving him a smile and squeeze of his arm. She walked down the hall, somewhat sure of where to go since she didn't stumble or backstep. Living up to his name, appearing from nowhere in the same essence of apparitions, the direwolf swiftly trotted by, following at her heels with no sound at all. As soon as he no longer heard her footfalls, Jon Snow turned to face Nahla. She was taking a gander at him once again, her eyes studying his face as if she was searching for something. "She left all of her and none of him," she muttered, almost as if she hadn't wished her heard.

"I don't understand," said Jon. "Of whom are you speaking of?" Her words left him utterly curious of who she may have meant. He had not been likened to many people other than his father, though rarely.

Her expression softened at that. The way her smile dimmed made his heart feel like an ironband, cold and tight, wrapped itself around it. "I suppose he had not told you much about her," said Nahla. "Of your mother."

His heart faltered, painfully. Nahla had knew his mother? The boy in him, the boy he tried to kill and he thought died in Castle Black, suddenly felt as if he had been revived. The boy who longed to know the woman with kind eyes that he dreamt of years ago suddenly knew life once again. "You knew my mother?" The words felt heavy as they left him.

"She and I were close friends," said the island woman as her eyes fell to the floor for a moment. "I loved her so much." She then met his eyes again and he swore hers were brimming with sad tears. "I understand why your father might not have told you anything about her. It was a painful day when she left this world."

His shoulders slackened, though he already suspected that she may have died. Did she die giving him life? Could he ever carry the burden of knowing he killed her to come into this world? "I can remember the way she lit up when she first laid her eyes on you and how pained she was to know she could not stay with you."

Jon's heartache felt quiet, as if it wanted to cease all reason for him to function. In the same breath, it felt like crescendo of anger that would burst from the center of his chest in a vicious shout of anguish. No wonder his father did not want to speak of her. How could he when she must've died in so much agony. Did he even see her die? Did he see the light leave her eyes? Jon surely felt even more fond of her, wanting to believe that if given the chance that she would've never left him for a moment because she loved him that much. "Forgive me," Nahla apologized, "that wasn't kind of me to explain it in such a way."

"There's nothing to forgive," he had enough the strength to say. "You've told me more about her than I ever thought I would ever come to know." And yet he didn't know a name just yet to a face he would never get to see. Did he want to know her name at this very moment now that he knew what he knows now?

"I made a promise with Lord Stark that I would keep quiet about it. He felt that she deserved peace and I agreed with him, but I think she would never want you to live without knowing that you were loved so greatly by her."

"Thank you." The grief echoed and colored everything grey. Nahla's small hand reached out to him, her hand taking hold of his hand in a way that reminded him of how Lady Stark tried to comfort her children. He supposed that even though his real mother was gone, he had another to care for him. He never had that before and to know he was given the chance…

"You are my good-son now and you've loved and cherished Aza in ways that I always dreamed for her to know and have." It was not his intention to have the woman crying, and she had done so prettily and with a smile. Like Aza, she had this warmth about her that was comforting and protected you from the coldness of the world outside. Hers was more soothing than the passionate fire of his wife. The blood of Summer really did flow through them, much more than how people explained. "For the sake of my grandchild and for the sake of what the world has dealt both you and my daughter, I hope to hear a song where love gets to grow old."

 **BRAN**

His soul often felt older than his body. Once he became the Three-Eyed Raven, he could not help but feel that he lived a thousand lifetimes. But as he gazed upon the gates of Winterfell with its familiar yet not so familiar wood and cleaner edged iron bolts far different than the old rusted ones, he felt he was ten again. The boy of ten that knew the castle greater than anyone else because he scaled every tower. The shape of Winterfell was something he could never forget. The Bran who could climb knew what color the stones in certain parts were, how many towers had been built, and how long it took to scale a wall or gate. The Bran who now flies knows who built the gates, who added another tower, and who lost one. He knew which Stark entered the gates with an army at their back and the ones who returned victorious. He knows the one who returned with three bodies wrapped in a grey cloak and a child he must claim as his own. Their faces, all long and serious, and lived centuries before him. There is nothing of Winterfell that is lost in time with him.

There's nothing to stare at anymore, he now realized. The gates have opened and the flashes of corpses he feared would show themselves again blurred into the moving and living people of the courtyard. Curious and strange they are; they are all so unfamiliar, he knows not at a one. But they're better than a weeping Beth and a headless Rodrik They're better than the bleeding Luwin beneath the red leaves and white branches of the weirwood tree. If he stared any longer at them then the living become a new strange kind of dead; rotted skin of white, sunken cheeks, and ice in their eyes of the coldest blue ever dreamed. Bran did not come to stare, to marvel that Winterfell was of life again… He came home to warn them.

Bran thought he imagined her at first. There's a girl with eyes as blue as the rivers of Riverrun standing before him now. She shared the shade of them with a woman of the trouts that doesn't breathe life. Her flesh is gone, she does not bleed anymore. _"On my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark, let him go or I will cut your wife's throat!"_ She's bones in the river now. The river still flows through her as it did in life as it does now in death. Visions and reality bleed together much too often for him. It's easy to see her so clearly because he knows he can through power, through dreams, through little hopes he begged to rid himself of. It's easy to see long hair of auburn and eyes full of tears.

A vision.

Is she a vision? Is she home? Is she here?

"Hello Sansa." Bran was scolded before for speaking to his visions. He wasn't supposed to, not ever. How can he not? His father, though not so much of his father but a younger and leaner man who fought and bled his way to Dorne, had heard him. His shout may have only been just a whisper on the wind to his father, but to Sansa maybe he could be louder. The cold of Winter dies for a moment. All he could feel is arms and heat of a living and breathing person warming him from the chill and of the ice that surrounds them. Sansa is not a vision; she lives and breathes, she's squeezing him as if her eyes and mind are fooling her, too.

Eventually, Sansa gave him time. Time to breathe the air of Winterfell again as Bran and not the apprentice of the Three-Eyed Raven. To see the halls of his home as a different person. Bran had been three people; a boy who wished to own the white cloak of knights, a boy who was broken and the lord of Winterfell, and now he's no longer a boy. He's a wolf, a winged one. He no longer runs, climbs or crawls, he flies. He's here and he's not, he isn't trapped or drowning anymore. But there are things to be said and so once they are ready, they meet in the godswood. A place that had once been his sanctuary; he didn't pray here as often as his father, Robb, and Jon did. He climbed the weirwood tree and slept. He climbed the weirwood tree and pondered. He climbed the weirwood tree just because he could.

 _"You're not my son,"_ his father once said after a rare laugh escaped him. He fetched him down, Bran remembered. _"You're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you."_

Sansa only knows how to be pretty, even when she is not trying to impress anyone. She's only sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, much like a child than the woman she is now. And yet, snowflakes drift down and catch in her hair. Her tears are gone, she's happy and her eyes are full of him but they still gloss. It's awkward, really. She keeps shifting and her eyes look away, making it much too obvious how unsure she is of what to do or say. Her smile is of someone who hasn't seen their friend in a long time and wants to know all that transpired since they saw each other last.

"I've missed you," Sansa had spoken first. It's good that she did, for no words properly come to mind for him yet. "I thought you were dead…" Burnt. Burnt were the children from the farm. Burnt to be him and Rickon. Burnt to make a kraken appear strong. "I wish Jon were here," she said rather wistfully.

"Yes," Bran agreed in a hushed voice. He wished Jon were here, too. _"I wish I could be here when you woke up."_ Now he's awake, but he's no longer the boy Jon wanted to see. It's safer to think of Jon, still alive and fighting. His brother, even if he isn't, at least not truly. Arya's trail goes cold at times and he sees faces of people he doesn't know when she was supposed to be there. And Rickon? Bran feels nothing but guilt towards him. His little brother must think he abandoned him, just as he thought Robb did. They were supposed to come back but they didn't. Bran finally did but it took so long.

"Yes, I'd like to see him." Did he say that too strangely? She seems confused, not enough to question him. Was it because he was so eager? "I need to speak to him." It's true, he does. He must tell Jon of father's lie; the truth couldn't be kept in the tower of a grieving and battleworn brother and a frightened girl too young to be a mother in a room that smelled of blood and roses.

"You're the Lord of Winterfell," she suddenly brought up. Her smile sweet yet confusing. "The rightful heir of both father and Robb."

 _"Do something! I'll do anything, please! No, please stop it!"_ His own voice echoed inside his head. He was the Lord of Winterfell once, Bran remembered.

 _"Hush now, child."_ Ser Rodrik's gaze… It was so full of calm as if there was not a sword about to be brought down on him. It was not in the same manner of when his lord father took that young Watchmen's head, either. It was different, cold and cruel. There was no justice to be given. No real reason. _"I'm off to see your father."_

 _"You said no harm would come!"_ Bran's voice echoed again. _"You said no harm would come!"_ A lord's duty was to protect his people, that's what their father always taught them. And who did Bran protect? Everyone who served him had died. _"Hold the door! Hold the door!"_ It isn't the cold wind that breezes by that makes him shiver. It's the memory, always the memory. Memories of Hodor, of Jojen, of Leaf, of Summer… He desperately tried not to think of his direwolf. He lost him, and could not take his bones to bury him next to Lady. All he had left was Meera, and he… He might lose her, too. She can't stay. He will see to that, that she leaves and never comes back. She is no longer obligated to help him or be at his side.

Sansa, however, isn't so easily swayed. "Of course you can be." There's a firmness to her voice. She speaks as an older sister does when encouraging their brother. "Just because your legs—"

"It's not that," Bran interrupted her, wishing his throat wouldn't tighten. "I… I can't be lord of anything." The boy, the frightened one… Bran kept him at bay, for now. "I'm the Three-Eyed Raven now."

"I don't know what that means," Sansa said, tilting her said to show her confusion. She's bidding him to tell her. She has never seen the bird in her dreams.

"I don't know if I can explain... " How can he explain it? It's difficult, but she looks so eager to know and she's still truly happy to see him. Will that happiness die if she knew what he has done? Sansa had always loved songs about heroes. She would let loose girlish sighs over tales of the good defeating the evil. Bran always liked the scary stories, of demons in the dark, and he—Isn't he now just as scary and dark as those stories? The world is now threatened by demons in the dark.

"Try," she begged. "Please, for me?"

His heart sings to spare her. How many harsh truths should Sansa suffer from? They were always harsher than she ever deserved, but she knows Jon's death and revival. She knows things are not always bright and airy, that brave heroes die or must do things that aren't neither brave and heroic. "I know things," Bran settled to say. "I know… I know _everything_. I can see it all—the past, the present; things far, things near. Everything that's happening right now. It's all pieces, fragments. I need to learn to see better. When the Long Night comes again I need to be ready."

"You've seen them, haven't you? Like Jon, like…" she paused and then shook her head. "You know what's coming…" It tries to take him again. The vision of a man who has lived for thousands of years. A man who was a man until he wasn't anymore. He leads corpses by the miles. They can stretch the entire horizon. "Bran?" It's her again. She brings him back for a second time. "I still don't understand how you know these things."

"Magic," Bran clarified, pretending that he was not swept away. "Like what we have with the wolves but deeper, older, stronger."

"What we have with the wolves?" That's right. Lady died before Sansa could harness it or could understand it. Lady died, and Sansa lived on without her. Summer is dead, too. He is forced to do the same. Their shared pain gives him strength anew.

"I could wear Summer's skin," he explained. "Close my eyes and run in his body. Hunt, eat, everything. Ravens too, among other things. I think Jon can with Ghost."

He hadn't meant to. He pained her… He can tell with the way Sansa quickly averted her attention elsewhere. Her eyes searched out over the godswood to the very resting place of Lady's bones. "I never dreamed I was Lady," she said before breathing out a soft sigh. "Sometimes I dreamed she was protecting me, though." Her smile, still laced with pain, has hope in it now. But what she doesn't realize is that her dreams are not one in the same as his and Jon's capabilities. He won't tell her that. The distance between them is already so strange that he can't think to make it greater. Sansa lost Lady, but the fight in her didn't die with her direwolf.

"I went north," Bran said in efforts to move past Lady and Summer, "to learn to control it better. I learned from the Three-Eyed Raven."

"I thought you said _you_ were the Three-Eyed Raven?" He didn't explain it well, and he can't fault her from catching on.

"I am." Sadness crept again and wrapped itself around him. "He died. So I am now." How could Bran forget that Brynden was another that died because of him.

"You were his heir?" Sansa tried to make sense of it with her question.

All Bran could think was that he was an heir before. He was Robb's heir. Is he still? Can he be? Sansa believed so. "I suppose." It's not a definite answer. "I don't know who else could have been." Jojen didn't think he could ever be and now they would never really know because he's gone. Only he, another greenseer, had understood.

"I should write to Rickon," said Sansa. "He'll be so happy to know you're here."

Bran said nothing, not open to speak of his doubts. He wants to believe Rickon will forgive him for leaving, and love him again.

 **AZA**

In the horizon where blue meets blue, Aza couldn't help but think back on what her mother said about her father. _"So long as the keeper of that future still lives and breathes, his death will not have been in vain."_ She thought about it all night and then all morning, and still she couldn't make any sense of it. Who could be the keeper of the future? Was there someone else at the Tower of Joy? If so, had they escaped before Ned Stark had shown up and that's why there was no word spoken of them? If her father died to protect someone then who could possibly be so important that his life could be forfeited? Whoever they were, her mother also wanted to protect them and it worried Aza. Being forced to hold such secrecy never turned out to be a good thing, that was one thing she absolutely sure of.

Before she gave herself a headache, she vaulted the thoughts away to breathe in the scent of seafoam from the frigid waters of the Narrow sea since this side of the island did not face Blackwater bay. The illusion of a quiet beach was shattered by the music of working Wildlings and Northmen alike behind her as they mined, drank, talked and ate. She wished she could help them, but the nagging of Jon Snow of how dangerous it was and how "precious" of a state she was in made her want to vomit and scream. As much as she enjoyed his doting, she was growing tired of it rather quickly. She fought in a battle with a child in her belly, unbeknownst to her but it did not change that she still held her weight. And while Aza understood the dangers, she did not enjoy being seen as some fragile woman that might shatter just from digging out a piece of obsidian.

 _The sooner you're out of me, the better._ She couldn't help to think towards the child in her womb that moved so restlessly now. What was the cause of their excitement? She could hardly guess. Did they enjoy the sea as she does or were they aware she blamed them for her rather boring and swollen-footed days that she was made to suffer through? Well, she never suffered at sup, that's for sure. They had a Dornish taste when it came to her cravings; stuffed fiery peppers and roasted lamb with honey with a drink of Lemonsweet. At least they shared her joy of things with food because she surely would cry if she was forced eat another bland piece of pie or the Maester's suggested stew with some watered-down wine for another four months.

Stretching her arms above her head, Aza felt good enough to return to back to the duties she gave herself. Because she could not mine, she settled for making sure the men had enough to drink and fingerfoods to fuel them whenever their bodies were in need of some well-deserved rest. It gave her something to do and a chance to speak with each and every one of them. She found herself coming to enjoy it and showed her effort of knowing the people she was protecting not only as a warrior of her own right, but because she was their queen. The young and old men alike felt bashful at first with having their queen serve them but soon enough, she began to see that her care and her presence was a small comfort to them since she didn't present herself as someone much too important to not help in the little ways.

Curious of what was getting done so far, Aza made her way towards the opening of the cave beneath the castle. Unbothered of the sands dirtying the bottom of her dress, she didn't bother to hike her skirts but so much and let them somewhat drag. By the time she could take a peek, she jumped at the feeling of heat that suddenly came so close. Jon stepped back after nearly colliding with her, brazier swinging from his grasp. "I was just about to look for you," he said, doing his best to act as if she did not get the jump on him. Aza suppressed her laugh and pretended she had not noticed as he took her hand in his. "I found something."

He didn't give her a chance to ask what it was. She said nothing, brows raised as he tightened his hold of her hand and used the brazier to light their way in the darkness. Above them and across the walls, dragonglass sparkled due to the light of the fire. For a moment, Aza thought it beautiful with the way they were so halfway deeply embedded for the look of how they decorated the cave reminded her of icicles and stalactites. As they entered deeper to what appeared to be a chamber, he brought the brazier closer to the walls to reveal what looked to be stone-carved murals. "Drawings?" was her immediate response.

"Murals," he corrected her. "The Children of the Forest must have made these."

It was Samwell that taught her about the Children of the Forest, with a little bit of input from Jon about the stories he grew up with about them. When they tried to research about the Long Night and the White Walkers in Castle Black's library, Aza was left befuddled about these supposed creatures that used to walk upon the earth of Westeros. Little things as small as a child with ears that could pick up on the sounds that no man can and eyes that could see so clearly in the dark. It saddened her to know they were gone, mostly because these lands were their home and man had came and took all that they had and knew.

"Thousands of years ago, the Children of the Forest even lived this far south." She wondered what they used to make these murals. Stones dipped with a paste that could color? Had they been so advanced that they possessed the abilities to make paints? And were there any more murals that they left behind that had not been discovered yet?

"They were of the Dawn Age," said Jon as he led her closer to what appeared to be First Men and then a strikingly painted White Walker. It was outlined in white, lines made to show the ribcages of their thinly fleshed bodies. Though the more important feature were the eyes, deep and dark and bluer than blue. The Children made sure to never forget that detail and she wondered if their eyes ever haunted their dreams as they haunted hers, Jon, and Samwell's. "Nearly everything from the days of dawn are gone. The giants, the great lions of the western hills, the unicorns…"

It almost feels like retribution. For all that men have slain and made cease to exist, they were now threatened by an even darker and formidable force that would do the same to them. "This might be the last thing we have left to convince Daenerys that the White Walkers are real." Aza had thought he might've given up the idea of persuading the Targaryen queen. Jon was never one to beg but the dragons. It was the dragons they needed and it was the hopeful wish of dragonfire raining down on the White Walkers and Wights alike so that could not lose.

"And what if she refuses again?" Her eyes looked at him from their corners. Jon continued to look at the mural and shrugged his shoulders.

"We were going to deal with them before we knew of the dragons." There was nothing but confidence in his voice, and it reflected in his eyes as he turned to look at her. "We're no strangers to having the odds stacked against us."

Aza snorted despite having agreed with him. What would make this time any different? How many times did they nearly lose their lives? Had their back against the wall and still fought with everything they had? Death even took Jon Snow, and he came back from it. The world was always against them, and yet here they stood. "Jon Snow, do you have no fear?" she asked teasingly. "Or have you grown so full of yourself?"

"I have some fears." The smile on his face hadn't wavered. "Your appetite for one."

"As if it's _my_ fault your child could eat the entire food storage." She playfully pushed him and he exaggerated the force, stumbling back until his back was against the wall. She stalked towards him then, closing the distance between them until she could grab the leathers of his brigandine. "I am, however, hungry for something else."

With a wolfish grin, Jon had leaned forward with a kiss that lacked tenderness. It was rough, nothing at all playful as they just were moments ago. Unfortunately, they quickly broke apart due to the sound of a rather awkward clearing of someone's throat. The two of them turned to look right only to find Daenerys Targaryen, torch in hand, with Missandei at her side and a fist against her lips. Although she was not embarrassed about being affectionate with her husband, the two of them had always did well not to be caught because they were still trying to unlearn being so secretive after hiding their love for one another so long in Castle Black. It almost felt like a brother of the Watch had found them and their bones were stiff with stupid and unnecessary fear.

"I had hoped to speak with you," Daenerys had said to Aza, surprisingly. Her brows bowed to show her confusion and she had looked at Jon, who seemed to encourage it. Aza had been meaning to talk with Daenerys alone to thank her for freeing her mother but her pride had caused the delay. It was a good time as any do so and speak of the mural behind them.

"As I with you," Aza found the words after untangling her thoughts. "But first, there's something you need to see." She stepped back, her hand motioning for the Targaryen to move forward. Daenerys stepped closer, her torch light and Jon's brazier revealing the entirety of the murals the Children of the Forest made.

"The Children of the Forest made these," Jon informed her.

"When?" Daenerys asked, likely not all too familiar with them.

"We don't know," Aza answered. "Most likely during the Age of Heroes."

Daenerys lifted her hand, fingertips brushing against the decorated wall with fascination. "I'm not familiar with the Age of Heroes, it was so much long before my ancestors came to Westeros."

"It was the time when the Children of the Forest and First Men made a pact of peace." Aza listened, not all that knowledgeable about it herself.

"Why after so much fighting?" asked the Dragon Queen. It was then she noticed that the Children of the Forest and First Men stood alongside each other against the Night King and his army. "They fought together against their common enemy. Despite their differences, despite their suspicious, together. We need to do the same if we're going to survive."

"Because the enemy is real," Jon further cemented. "It's always been real."

A look of thought swept over Daenerys face. "And you say you can't defeat them without my armies and my dragons?"

"If we could, we wouldn't bother you." And that was the honest truth of it all. "If this doesn't convince you…" Aza did not like the idea of begging, but her priority was her child and her family. If she had to…

"I will fight for you," declared Daenerys. "I will fight for the North… _when_ you bend the knee."

How much more frustrating could she be? Did seven whole kingdom mean that much more than peril? Did her absolute power mean more to her than beings made of death? "Leave us." It wasn't a suggestion and she did not ask. It was an order, and she meant for it to be done.

Her eyes did not stray from Daenerys, who refused to look away in the same stubbornness. From her peripherals, Jon silently sent her a nod while Missandei remained troubled. She was not her subject, so Aza understood that the only orders she followed were Daenerys, her queen. Calmly, Daenerys raised her small and freehand to signal for Missandei to leave. Without another word, the Naath adviser bowed her head and turned to leave the cave with Jon following a few steps behind.

In the semi-darkness, where shadows played with the curve of their faces and made the dragonglass above them shine, there stood a dragon and a star.

It was meant to be one step and yet they became several. Aza made sure that they were face-to-face, even if the woman of blood and fire was a few inches taller. "Is that all you care about?" Aza more or less was asking. In truth, she was interrogating. "Your rights? What about your duty, Daenerys Targaryen?" They remained staring eye-to-eye and it was right here that Aza could see confusion and even traces of hurt in the depths of violet eyes. "It's the throne and then the kingdom to you? It should be the kingdom and _then_ the throne."

Every single person that vied for that gods-awful chair lost their mind or their heart, sometimes even both. It drove every single person away of who they once were. Like the swords that had been melted down to create that seat of power, it was a double-edged sword that killed both ruler and subject. "I had wanted things to be different between you and I," Daenerys had said, much to Aza's surprise. "Your father and my brother were once great friends and I thought you and I could be, too."

The words stung, deeply and suddenly. And she said those painful words so honestly, of that Aza could feel and see. Her heart may have faltered, but Aza wouldn't let it show. "I am not Arthur," she told her plainly. "Just as you are not Rhaegar." The words felt heavy, somehow. And once they left her, she felt… sad.

Because she didn't enjoy the sudden feelings that erupted in her chest, Aza walked around the Dragon Queen and towards the exit of the cave and to the beach. The smell of the sea didn't lift her mood either and there were no time to mull it all over. There were things she still had to do.

 **ARYA**

These were not the bedchambers that Arya remembered. Winterfell was home and there was an echo the familiar warmth that only these grey and granite walls could give her, but it wasn't the same. She dreamt of it plenty, of entering these rooms and halls again, and yet everything felt like a stranger or a shadow of their former selves. Even as she stood in the bedchambers that once belonged to her mother and father, she could not summon the images of her smaller self running into this room and climbing into their bed to snuggle between them beneath the furs. She can't picture her father's heavy sigh or her mother's chuckle as she begged to stay here because Sansa was driving her mad. Nothing of this room felt like it belonged here, and now everything belonged to Sansa. Oddly enough, these chambers felt empty of her sister, too. Sansa used to decorate their room often with a touch of things she loved when they were younger but it was obvious she did not do the same here.

But Sansa is not the same just like Arya is not. She's taller and skinnier, and paler than she could recall. The screaming songbird she left at the Sept of Baelor with their father's head was gone, and so was the Arya that died there with him. "You took their bedchambers," she found herself saying out loud. It was supposed to be just a thought and yet she mistakenly gave it life. She was always quite frank about things, and now such a habit had only grown worse and colder.

"I didn't want to," Sansa said with a frown. "Jon made me since I'm the Lady of Winterfell now."

"I doubt you put that much of a fight." Although it was playfully said, Arya knew not of whether Sansa could read her good intentions.

The chambers are messier than she thought it would be, considering Sansa always like their room so neat. She could remember being screamed at about how much of a slob she was and her dresses would be kicked across the room if they didn't trip Sansa first. The candles are melted down almost to nothing on their perches, books as well as gowns are strewn here and there. There are even two empty cups on the bedside, much to her surprise.

"You had company?" Arya asked with an arched eyebrow, curious that Sansa would ever give permission of someone in her chambers alone. She could not stop herself from being curious, especially when the only person Sansa was only so close to was gone. Jeyne Poole, Arya remembered.

"No, never." Sansa took her time about answering despite it being the truth. "No one is allowed in if I'm not present." Despite how unladylike her chambers currently were, there was still some sense of organization about it. None of it felt wild and random, it seemed merely accidental or a thought caught short because of another.

Crossing the threshold, Arya made her way towards the window, the very same one her father often would lose himself when looking out of it. From here, you can see the entirety of the courtyard as if all of Winterfell was laid out for you to see. Her body can't help but shift into the stance he would stand in, with his arms crossed and his expression forlorn. Arya tried to capture pieces of him, from the way she dressed and stood. From the way she tied her hair…

"How is he?" Arya found herself saying despite her mind being elsewhere. "Is he still grim as always?"

"In a way," was her sister's quick reply. Sansa had easily known of who Arya spoke of without having to take a second to ponder. "He's much warmer and he smiles more. If anyone is to be thanked for that, it should be Aza."

"Aza?" Arya echoed. The name was foreign; more foreign than the Braavosi she can fluently speak. More foreign than the high and low Valyrian, the Lysene tongues that she knows as well.

"His wife," answered Sansa. "He's married now. You missed the wedding by a few months, I'm afraid."

That was one thing she had not foreseen. Her brother, not only a king, but married? Her mind quickly tried to conjure up the kind of woman he finally allowed to seep into his skin. He always kept everyone outside their family at an arm's length, so was this woman forced upon him or did he finally open up his heart? Arya had always felt there was too much room in it. "What is she like?" She had a good-sister before, one that she had never gotten the chance to meet. It was too late, her blood already spilled in the Great Halls of the Twins. That very same woman was going to give her a niece or nephew, but Arya also avenged her and the unborn child with the blood of the Freys.

"I hardly know the words to describe her." Was that a good thing or a bad thing? She supposed people had once thought the same of her when she was young. "She reminded me of you in some ways. She fancies swords and breeches, and she abhors politics. She's honest but kind, and I… I trust her."

Trust. Sansa had said it as if it was the most difficult thing in the world to give and receive, and for once Arya completely understood. She, herself, could hardly hold any for her own sister despite how desperately she wanted to. Her eyes keep watching Sansa's every move, absorbing every action and tick searing into her memory. It's a war within herself to not hold a piece of Sansa in her head this way, but she's losing this war when the battle has only started when they reunited in the crypts. Her sister is a stranger now, and Arya could not simply forget all she knows to trust strangers again.

"That's good." The words spilled out, thankfully. "Jon needs someone like that." And it's true. Jon needed to stop howling at the silver moon, and look to the stars instead. Stars gave guidance and he needs them to lead him out of the darkness that always had their claws flesh deep in him.

It takes a minute, but eventually Arya slip her hand into her tunic and pulled out a small bundle of something wrapped in several handkerchiefs. "I have something for you," she announced to Sansa, her hands feeling as if they might shake as she stepped over to the bed to settle the bundle atop of the furs.

Perplexed, Sansa eyed it for a moment before her blue eyes curiously look up at her. "What is it?"

"It's…" She thinks for a moment and then knew exactly was to say. "A peace offering, for all the times I called you an idiot. For the sheep dung in your bed, and all those other things."

"Is it poisoned?" teased Sansa, her hands picking up the bundle with care.

"Don't make me take it back." She smiled, her hands untying the knot and opening the bundle carefully. A wave of surprise comes first before her eyes close halfway, and Arya can see sadness. Her pale and slender fingers reach for one, picking up the gift that Arya had Hot Pie make for her.

"Lemoncakes," she nearly whispered.

"A thousand years ago, I knew a girl that loved lemoncakes." Just the taste and smell of lemons in Braavos made the memory of Sansa come to the forefront of Arya's mind. When she was the Blind Girl, she had to remember that she had no name.

"A lot has changed." Her sister observed the small treat with a smile before lifting to her mouth, ever dainty with her small bites. Then a bigger bite. Before Arya could blink, Sansa shoved the whole thing into her mouth until her rosy cheeks were almost bursting. Stunned from head-to-toe, Arya continued to look on. "But lemoncakes are still my favourite," she said with her mouth so full.

Laughter took them. It wracked their bodies and made them curl, and Arya shoved a cake in her mouth, too. Like messy children, they spilled crumbs all over the furs on Sansa's bed, their mind taken back to warmer days as they ached with happiness despite the snow that still falls outside. Laughter remained until they were absolutely winded and flat on their backs, eyes swirling with joy and grief.

It wasn't made to last. There may be barely a foot between them in this moment but the distance of a world has always been known to them. Between them is the earth, their father likened them to the sun and moon; two entirely polarized figures. Sansa reigns the day and Arya reigns the night. In this quiet that seemed unreal, Sansa moved a hand to cover over her own until she finds the strength to lace their fingers together between them.

For once, Sansa and Arya could meet and it comes at the time and cost of an eclipse.

* * *

 **A/N** : I bet you're guys are wondering why it took me FOREVER to update. Aside from my extremely busy life as of late, my laptop charger dying, and I literally could not decide what POVs I wanted to do. Like, there were so many to choose. So many I had inspiration for and these ended up being the final cut. So I hope all of you like them because it wasn't my intention to take this long. This became a very emotional chapter out of nowhere? I hope you all enjoyed it.

As you can see, I gave Bran some depth and kind of did my own rewrite/fix-it bit. I know of lot of people think he's acting like an android, but its actually somewhat book canon? Bran is trying very, very hard to suppress all his emotions and you can't see that through the show, you can only read all about it in the books because you're getting his mental perspective of it all. But I honestly still think he blames himself for Rickon's death in the show, so I think its not that ooc as some people might think. So I kinda edge off his coldness by a margin.

Out of all the things I look forward to eventually writing, it's actually Jaime and Aza having a conversation. Jaime was literally Arthur Dayne's biggest fanboy (the man made him a knight after all and he wanted to be just like him), so to meet his daughter? _Whew_ , that dialogue is going to be fun. Should I write it through a Jaime POV?

Also, I didn't really understand the anger/outrage over Dany burning Randyll Tarly and Dickon? I mean this is _war._ People die in wars, especially people who outright plan to oppose you at any given time and have said so. And how she went about it isn't even all that bad? It somewhat doesn't even make sense, really. Like, she was going to let him keep everything; lands, titles, everything that Cersei promised to give him. The only thing Dany wanted was for him to serve her, to be her loyal subject, as any ruler would demand if they're going about things peacefully. He refused the most merciless thing she could ever offer. If she arrested him, as she said, anyone that stubbornly opposed her would want to be arrested as well. So what is she supposed to do? "Okay, I'll allow you your freedom so that you can continue to fight alongside my enemy against me" or just fill the dungeons up with a bunch of unloyal people?

Not only that, Randyll turned on his own liege lord's family, the Tyrells, and Cersei took their castle and decimated their entire family. That is literally the most terrifyingly untrustworthy things that the both of them committed. I mean, at any given point, Randyll could do the same thing to Dany while Cersei could do the same thing to Randyll, if she felt like it. Not to mention, Jaime practically went on this weird rant that the Dothraki are gonna rape and pillage the South/Reach/Westeros. This is even funnier considering Tywin, who Cersei is trying her hardest to emulate, let Vargo Hoat and the Mountain along with many of his soldiers rape and pillage the Riverlands out of retaliation for Robb holding Jaime prisoner. What are the Dothraki doing that the Lannisters did not already condone? And if the Dothraki were going to rape and pillage with no holds barred, wouldn't they have done so already?

But honestly, Randyll was a shitty-ass person and treated Samwell horribly, and I mean _horribly_ all his life. So I'm glad he's dead. He chose it and he deserved it. Plus that was Dany's moment to tell her enemies "If you fuck with me, this awaits you". I just... wanted to rant about that. I'm not too much a big fan of the way Dany's decisions were played out as well as this whole Mad King comparison. Honestly everyone on the show is doing a terrible job of being a proper ruler (except Sansa, she's like the only person who knows what the hell she's doing), but I guess this is the learning process for all of them? I don't know.

Last but not least, maybe it was wishful thinking on my part for hoping Jon's name to be either Jahaerys or Aemon. Rhaegar was trying to recreate Aegon and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya. He probably didn't expect for Jon to be a boy in the first place, if you think about it. He likely would've chosen a male version of Visenya's name if that were the case (wouldn't it be crazy if it was Viserion like Dany's dragon since Viserys was already alive and kicking), but I had hoped that because Ned chose Jon that it would be Jaehaerys, like J the Councillator; the prominent believer of this prophecy.. I guess I'll have to wait for what GRRM decides because I don't think Jon's name will be Aegon in the books unless Lyanna was obsessed with the prophecy as Rhaegar was and upon hearing that Elia's Aegon died that was how she would be able continue the prophecy. Regardless, I will forever love the fact that Ned named Jon after Jon Arryn. Like, the symbolism in that alone makes me want to cry. Jon wasn't his son but he raised and loved him as his own, and honored the man who wasn't his father by blood but raised him and loved him all the same. And it's crazy because Jon A protected Ned from the Mad King and Ned protected Jon from Robert. It just brings me to tears every time. Like, the name holds so much weight.

P.S., lol at this show for throwing away the MAJOR "the dragon must have three heads" that is heavily foreshadowed in the books by Rhaegar of all people. Unless they retcon another dragon, I guess the show is saying that part of the prophecy just ain't happening. Because I always believed that one of Dany's dragons were going to die and the ice dragon was still going to happen, but I was a firm believer that Tyrion, Jon, and Dany were going to be the three propheceized dragonriders but I guess the books will do it justice.

P.S.S. I'm not big on time-travel fics, but wouldn't a fic of an OC from like modern-day Westeros time-traveling centuries back into the past be a pretty good fic? I'm not making it. I can't handle another story until at least ONE of these three are done, but I would be up to read that. Just randomly throwing that out there. I don't own this idea but if anyone who read my story and wants to make it, a shoutout would be nice. Not expected, but nice.

Vulcran Blackfyre: True, but I'm speaking on the idea that this was not a decision she made entirely on her own. I'd like to believe there's a reason of why she chose that name and yeah, he's completely dead... _in the show_.

BookwormStrawberry: Well, there's a LOT to consider. I mean, while the show played upon the "natural" ( and I quote this because their romance was rushed as hell ) attraction of two single people, I think if Dany did pursue him in this fic... There would be a reason. c: That's all I can say. Well, I could take a break or not. ( I already took one lmao ) but there's some things I intend to do entirely on my own. Like, I already know what I want for Jon's Snow parents reveal and I know the show isn't going to do it how I want it.

Seal-Sama: LOL But this has to be canon, right? I mean did he NOT consider in show-canon that Ygritte could've gotten pregnant? I think being a slow learner is a Stark thing. c: I'm sorry you had to wait for more.

Anelle25: I love writing Nahla but I also hate it. As you can see, I could write the whole two years of the Tower of Joy by impulse because I get too into writing her. But this reunion was a long time coming. Somebody has to have their mom! But I hope I answered your question about Dany and Aza.

AugustRrush: Oooh, you changed your name! I hope you like the update.

Amelia: Ghost was unfortunately the victim of the budget. The dragons took all the money and screentime, but this is a fanfic. There's no budget here. He had, like, one cameo and I was starving because of it. I'm all about that heartwarming stuff. I love that family fluff, and this chapter truly brings that out.

PadfootCc: Ahhhhhhh, thank you! It's so hard to try to keep everyone canon, so to hear things like that makes me really happy.

xenocanaan: I love Edric so much, and Aza has been starved of a family ( that's not Jon's ) so she deserves it. Direwolves or die!

Serenity10116: Mama's story will be told, but not all at once because goddamnit I have so much planned. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I basically fulfilled all your wishes unintentionally. Lmao.

Guest 1: Yaaaaaaaaaas

Says-the-Slytherin: I finally get to write it after planning it for so long. Who knew how plausible it could be that Dany would have the Dothraki conquer their fear of the sea and take them all with her to Westeros. At least I wasn't playing with an extreme AU there. (I wish they could be half-siblings, but that would mean Grey worm is older and was randomly missing during her childhood. If only the show made him younger... Wait, the show hasn't even given him an age but he's definitely older than Aza at least by 1-3 years). He was basically that guy in the corner screaming the end is near and I don't know how Dany and Tyrion was just gonna be all "that guy is definitely telling the truth here." When I read the distance between the North and Dragonstone... believe you me, I was like "? so they just winged this, huh?" fkjasjfsajkdjad the cgi budget. I'm crying because you're absolutely right, but the danger. The polar bear was daaaaaangerous. Let's pretend Jon is in real peril when he's already a walking jesus and literally nobody can fight this war without him. Why? Because for the 100th time, you have to be reminded that he's a badass. On her behalf, lmaoooo. I'm cackling. You truly know my girl so well. / wipes tear )

LadyDV011: Good woah or did I throw you a curveball woah?!

Princesss of Mirkwood: I can't say, but it could be very good or very bad. At least not as bad as in the show.

deepcracks: It was hell for you, too. You'd thought we left all the hell when Ramsay died but nope! Thank you so much and ahhhh, I'm so happy to hear/read that.

BloodyBlondeVamp: Don't apologize! I'm glad you have a whole lot to share with me! Oh yes, definitely. They do get abandoned and I never get my complete Jon Snow fix. I won't disappoint you all with that! I hope you found some inspiration, though! Loooooooool. The show is far too mean, they would probably only do that once! But if there was any live-action with Aza, I just imagine her with the grinch smile everytime they talk about girls. I got you at least once, so I'm proud of that. Most people did the reverse! Saw DaddyDayne reveal but not a mom reunion. It pains me to think that they could've grown up as friends and Jon Snow is a prince and Aza is trying her hardest to be a knight just like her father and probably join the kingsguard. That's an AU I would love to write. Totally, the incest thing didn't surprise me either because of those very same reasons and because the books are obviously leading up to Jon/Dany. The dreams, the parallels, and everything is all there. I expected it, but I don't like how the show handled it. True, but with the way Dany and Jon are so closely related that their aunt/nephew and cousins... some major deformities are likely in their future, but I think we won't be seeing anymore of Targaryen incest relationships after Dany and Jon. They'll be lucky to have one kid because if this ending is going to be bittersweet like GRRM said, that's the end of that. It's budget as well as the fact that they weren't creative enough to make a cohesive story with no more source materials since there's no Winds of Winter. They literally ruined Dorne, made it the Ramsay show for a while, ruined Stannis, rushed and butchered Arya's storyline, killed Rickon, rushed Bran's storyline, there's no Aegon or JonCon, made Jaime a one-note character when I love how he's unconditioning himself of Cersei, and dramatically changed Sansa's. This is the fault of doing everything that they did since S4 and it's backfiring like hell because now they have nothing to really add to the plot. I hope you enjoyed this update, though! Don't be sorry, again! I enjoyed reading your review.

Kate Langdon: You have all suffered enough. Get those fam feels. jasfajfdashd "she was on fire (not lit tho)" I'm dying. I honestly don't like how this show is dealing with the Elia/Rhaegar/Lyanna triangle. I mean, how can Rhaegar get a divorce from a wife who was loyal, had his children, and did nothing wrong while Baelor I literally did not want to marry his sisters, wanted a divorce, and locked his sisters in the Maidenvault because he didn't want to lust after them. Every other Targaryen who got married under the Seven and wanted a legit divorce were denied but Rhaegar somehow...gets to divorce his wife who did nothing wrong for a girl they literally call a "woman-child/child-woman". I honestly thought Rhaegar and Lyanna married before the Old Gods because that would explain the dual marriage if Jon HAD to be trueborn. But nope... the sense in that is gone. She steals Elia's man and the name of her son, and it just makes her look sooooo bad when you want to feel for because a.) she hated cheating-ass Robert and b.) she was 14-16. You and I share the very same thoughts but this show does not care. Lmao. Oooooooh that was a sick burn, and a true one! That was honestly so dumb. I was s hocked as hell that he would do something so stupid.  
\- I am not using Aegon. No way in hell. I have yet to decide between Aemon and Jaehaerys, tho.  
\- Well, no because it won't work. Lmao. There's no point, so I guess Cersei gets what she wants in him/the North not interfering.  
\- Gendry Bolt. I'm sceaming. Because I'm a firm believer in Rhaegar's, the dragon must have three heads, that whole plot is going to go differently. Sam and his horse are literally faster than Dany's dragons. This is canon. LOL.  
\- I'm sorry. Varys is a mermaid. I tried to keep this a secret, but he's half dolphin.

snowflake2410: I can assure you, right now, that Aza is not bending any knee. That would be so ooc, even for her. Oh, of course. Dany is very maternal, I just couldn't see her not caring at all. She's a mother three times over. I've hinted about the Daynes in that conversation, so I unexpectedly answered that. I can't answer any of that since that'll be spoiling, so you just have to see. c: I always wanted to be a fairy.

alia00: Thank you! c:

1MoreInMe1: Ahhhhhh, I'm so happy that you're happy for Aza!

Guest 2.0: I literally have no idea, to be honest! I think after seeing Tessa Thompson in Thor's Ragnarok, I can totally see it.

Bella-swan11: Your perception is so on point.

Romeosami7: Because too much can go wrong! Pregnancy is a lot harder than you think, especially in these times. You just don't want to throw it out there when there's so much danger!

pikapyon: It is finally known. I'm just a sucker for fated-romances. A Dayne and Targaryen together for a third time. c; She deserves a break! Badasses get tired, too. You can count on me to keep our J-Snow on the right track!

Kelly: ((((((((((((((((: Oh boy, I know you're going to love what I have planned then. I'm big on Starks, big on family. Big on promises being kept. Aza is always of her own mind and while she is certainly grateful, Dany is proving herself and also not. At least I hope I made that clear. Papa Jon, he has so much on his plate... preparing for fatherhood, fighting ice zombies, in-between the war of two queens, not knowing who his parents are. His wife cannot sit down. I mean, wow. I...I love making him suffer. Oh, I'm definitely doing it my own way because the show won't give it justice, I can feel it in my bones. And writing Jon's inner conflict about the Stark-Targaryen vs being a bastard ( and after telling Theon that's a Stark too ). It's gonna be fun. Fun. Fun. Fun. His right to the throne. Dany's right to the throne. Fun. Fun. Fun. My son just wanted to climb, you know. He did not ASK for any of this. I just see myself suffering when we finally get his chapters again. Well, Nym and her crew are definitely going to comeback that's a given. And we still have Shaggy because I'm not a monster. We're going to get our direwolf army.

I 100% agree. I don't know what went wrong or what they were thinking, but that season was messy. I'm with you. I feel like I'm going to like book!Jonerys than show!Jonerys because GRRM is going to do them justice. I'm still sick because they are aunt/nephew and cousins all at the same time, but I've accepted it. And it's weird because the show has rushed romances like YgrittexJon as well as RobbxTalisa but somehow, they feel spaced and not force fed. Mainly because we've seen them, I dunno, talk and try to understand each other. But Jonerys was just argument, longing stares other people see but we don't see, and their conversations are forgettable. And I got kind of pissed at Jon telling Dany that she's silly to listen to the witch who cursed her when she was unable to get pregnant by Daario because she was actually cursed? It was like "wth jon who are you to tell her that?" but Jon's peen will be the magic peen to end the curse. Lmaoooooooo. Oh and don't get me started how it was SO out of character for Jon to randomly call her Dany. Like, what the hell? And she shut that shit down, which was justified and awkward? I...This show can't write romance for them if their life depended on it. I'm still at a loss for Bran's dumbass line about Robert's Rebellion was built on a lie when it was NOT. Rhaegar and Lyanna's love affair (which we don't know is really all that romantic and sweet as the show is playing up to be because I have a feeling its a lot more complicated bookwise because the show practically stripped my she-wolf child of everything that makes her HER) was not the whole reason for the rebellion. Like, was Aerys not burning people and doing horrendous things? But yeah, a lie. Okay Bran. Okay showwriters. And it was just weird with Tyrion in the hallway and... I dunno what the hell they were thinking.

I feel you. I thrive in Winter, I love being wrapped up and literally cry in Summer. It's probably going to be even worse this year, and I want to weep thinking about it. True! Lol. Gendry Usain Bolt, The Rock-Throwing Hound. Original Hardhome is much better in comparison, especially with the Night King showing up like was on New York Fashion Week runway. I'm glad you had a good time.

Guest three: You waited a long time, my friend.

Shannon: I hope you like all the Dany/Aza interactions. Writing it was actually fun, and a bit challenging. No, thank you for reviewing and staying with me!

Musical Bear: I totally agree. I love Dany, but she got really arrogant with her dragons while she successfully sacked two cities, she didn't implement any laws to protect them or the slaves. She wants to rule, but she never stayed in Yunkai to properly rule and that's why she stayed in Meereen but she still had trouble protecting it and Tyrion had to fill in for her. I don't know how she can come to Westeros and expect things to immediately fall into place. She's going to have difficulty ruling if she doesn't wise up. I mean, I can't fault her for not believing in Jon but at the same time I can? Dragons were said to be gone and yet you brought them back. She should know firsthand that the impossible can happen but in the same effect, she has seen dragons and not White Walkers and Tyrion even thought it to be crazy so did most Westerosi. It's a double-edged sword, so I can't fault her for that completely. Oh yes, she does! But I don't blame her. She's got three strikes against her! She's a Targaryen, a woman, and the mad king's daughter; I suspect she would be sensitive because Westeros already has formed their opinions about her but she's attacking the wrong people! Aza was the muscle and the brain, Jon is tired. He gets a pass this time.

Oh, yes! I kind of love the parallels between her and Stannis? Mainly because I actually liked Stannis before the whole burning his daughter thing. I think they're giving Dany the lesson that Davos taught book!Stannis because show!Stantheman is long gone, and I was really going to use that to my advantage in this story. Lmao. I feel bad because Jon is hyped up to be her true love because he also holds more of a claimant than she does in some way? That has to hurt, especially with the way people were so gaga about Rhaegar.

And your wish has come trueeeee! God, I loved writing Nahla and Jon bonding. It was so fun, and so sad because I want to spill EVERYTHING but I can't. Nahla has so many feelings, and seeing Jon Snow brings her both happiness and pain.

(((((((((((((: I can't say anything about that. Lmao. Oh, definitely! I loved the meme I saw when they had Dany saying that and Robb popped out like "WHAT?! Hey! I'm the last King of the North!"

I'm crying at you guys about Ghost. I can't believe he made this much of an impact. I can't believe I wasn't the only one just upset because he didn't come along. This CGI budget had made so many people mad on his behalf. I love how you noticed that. Aza subconsciously thinks that Ghost is just this wife entity when really he's just a good boy, who doesn't understand why his humans are doing the wrong things. And this is how I think most people act when they're pet starved, when they finally get a pet they just really wondered what it is that this animal thinks of them or what's going around them or maybe that's just me.

You can see how much it kills me to not throw it at them, but I have to be a proper storyteller. Ohhhhhh, he definitely did. And someone else was reminded of Dayne and Targaryen together.

(Can you blame her? Snake venom sauce sounds scary, but _firecannotkilladragon._ ba-dum-tiss )

Guest 4: I'm glad you loved this story and I know it frustrated you to tell that I took this long. So sorry!

Shy-Lady: Oh, I couldn't possibly make you guys suffer that. I couldn't even make myself suffer that, and I can't believe you were feeling the same way! I missed writing Rickon, but it's mostly because I like to challenge myself by trying to get into the mind of a growing boy. It helps to strengthen my writing, and because I love this boy so much. Edric, jesus. I haven't even figured out his personality all that well but when I do, I'm giving him a POV. Edric is a year younger than Sansa! Because I made everyone a year younger than S7, she's 18 and he's 17. c: ( Well, it's pretty much canon that Neddie-Ned might have a crush ). Wow, I don't know how but you guys hope and wishes align with mine. I don't remember any Wildlings with them, but you know I had to bring them anyway because I love them. c:

Guest 5: Don't be sorry! It took me a long time, so I understand how you feel. c:

emily matthey: It too me forever, but I finally updated.

UmiNight Angel Neko: Ahhhhhh, thank you! I'm glad you feel that way, and I wanted to keep it realistic that she would have some insecurities about those things! That's such a great compliment, mostly because I think Dany, Arya, Sansa, Ygritte, Lyanna M. ( and Lyanna S but the show didn't very much show it), and Brienne show many sides of feminism that I think doesn't really get represented? Like the soft, the hard, and the in-between. Too many times women are written just as one note, and there aren't that many sides of them shown. So to hear that I'm providing to that makes me happy. Thank you so much and ahhhh, that's such a huge compliment. I'm so happy.

Emily0111: I finally updated. c:

rivainimermaid: I'm happy you're attached to her and I hope you enjoyed both her interactions with Nahla and Dany! Thaaaaank you so much for your review.


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